


Trouble

by orphan_account



Series: Trouble [2]
Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Mentions of self-harm, References to Suicide, Sacha sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan writes for his college newspaper and has to interview a very unwilling Sacha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’m ashamed of how excited I am to write this but hey there it is. Before you proceed, here’s a list of all the AU names of everyone:
> 
> Ethan = Abel
> 
> Sacha = Cain (from social-construct’s ‘Appearances’)
> 
> Aleks = Deimos (from elisetales’ ‘Prom Night’)
> 
> James = Encke (from social-construct’s ‘After’)
> 
> Simon = Keeler 
> 
> Ivan = Praxis 
> 
> OK I think that’s all. Yaaaayyy college AU, here we go.
> 
> -Em

Trouble

Chapter One

Ethan blinked at the sound of a palm slapping against the hardwood of the desk right beside him. He tore his gaze away from the computer monitor where he had been cutting down an article—"1,000 words!" his editor had said. "What part of 1,000 words do you not understand?"—to look up at the man in question.

"Simon, relax," Ethan said, turning back to the computer. "I'm at 1,002; I'll have it done before it goes to press."

Simon squinted at the monitor, long fall of his braid resting against his chest. He raised two delicate fingers and adjusted his glasses by the outer corner of one lens, and shook his head. "It's not about that," he said. "I just got an email."

Ethan said, "Oh?" and that was all it took for Simon to launch into a long-winded explanation about the state of his inbox. Ethan caught something about funding and The Office of Minority Affairs before he began to focus his attention back in on his article. He had just found an 'it is' that he could easily change into 'it's' when Simon's hand hit the desk again.

"Ethan!"

Again, Ethan jumped and looked up. "Sorry, sorry, what?"

Sighing, Simon sank into the desk chair beside Ethan. The computer lab was almost completely empty, just a few other people working to get their articles finished on time. In the far corner, Ethan could just barely see the top of Georgia's head bent over the computer. She was always a seat-of-her-pants type of writer; Ethan doubted she had even started her article about the opening football game of the season before she came in today.

"I  _said_ ," Simon emphasized, and Ethan focused in on him once more, "that I got an email from the office of the Dean. They say that the school is losing funding; donors don't think we're diverse enough." He paused to brush a minute speck of lint off the sleeve of his sweater before continuing. "Anyway, since we're such a well-known collegiate newspaper" —Simon drew himself up a bit at that— "the administration thinks that if we write an article about a promising minority student, donors might change their minds."

"All right," said Ethan, "so which student are you going to write about?"

Simon raised his eyebrows and blinked. Then he started to laugh, blond trail of his braid quivering as his shoulders shook. "Ethan; I'm not going to write the article, you are."

"W—what?  _Me_?" he said. "But you're the editor-in-chief, and this article sounds really important, you should do it, I shouldn't—"

"Ethan," Simon soothed, laying a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "We both know you're an excellent writer who has written some very interesting articles in the past."

Ethan's eyes flicked to the computer screen where his article about the importance of composting was still waiting to be finished. Simon cleared his throat and drew Ethan's attention again.

"Besides, I'm far too busy, and you have all those connections through the financial aid office…and your father."

Ethan made to respond but Simon kept talking, fingers digging into Ethan's shoulder now.

"Think about what a good impression it would make," he was saying. "The Dean's son writing about the diversity of the student body?"

Ethan bit his lip. "Wouldn't that be a conflict of interest?"

"No," said Simon without missing a beat, eyes wide.

"Well," Ethan said, floundering, "I wouldn't even know who—who I would talk to." A face immediately appeared in his mind's eye, dark and brooding, someone who Ethan had signed into the financial aid office months ago, and Ethan had looked at the sign-in sheet just afterward, just so he could know his name.

"Oh, well no problem!" Simon said, taking a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket and passing it to Ethan. "I took the liberty of compiling a list of eligible students from the colonies. Take your pick!"

Ethan unfolded the paper and scanned the list before he could help himself.  _There, just there—that was him._  "Wait, but Simon—" When he looked up again, Simon was gone, out of the lab.

Ethan slumped back in his seat and caught the eye of Georgia, who had raised her head to peek up over the edge of her monitor. She winked, and then dropped her gaze back down, and a second later Ethan heard the clacking of the keyboard as she started typing again. Ethan hurriedly finished his composting article and sent it to Simon, then he was back to staring at the slip of paper in front of him.

He focused on that fourth name, scrawled in Simon's tiny handwriting, along with a brief description:  _Left the colonies two years ago, full-ride, neurobio major._

Ethan licked his lips and turned back to the computer, typing in the email address Simon had copied down for him. After that he paused, unsure how to proceed. He had to remind himself half a dozen times that it was only an email asking for an interview—he wasn't asking the guy out or anything—to get his fingers working properly.

Ethan took a breath and set his fingers to the keyboard, typing out the name that he had been thinking about for months now: Sacha.

#

"He hates me," Ethan groaned, slumping into the booth and taking the beer Simon pushed toward him.

Simon laughed, but when Ethan shot him a sharp look, he abruptly broke off, picking up his own drink.

"Who hates you?" James asked, arm slung around Simon's shoulders, fingers brushing against his collarbone.

"No one," said Simon, giving his boyfriend a wry look. Then to Ethan, he said, "Why don't you just email someone else off the list?"

Ethan just shook his head, waved a hand, and drank more beer.

"I'm lost," said James, frowning at Simon.

"It's nothing," said Ethan before Simon could respond. "I just—I have to interview this…guy from the colonies to show the diversity of the school. I've been trying to set up a meeting with him for two weeks but he keeps ignoring me."

"So talk to someone else," Simon stressed. "You need to finish this article as soon as possible."

"I know," Ethan sighed. "I just…." He trailed off, glancing around the bar. It was James' favorite spot, full of people from the colonies, hidden away on a side street at the edge of campus.

Ethan always felt so out of place here; too clean and put-together, too wealthy and contented. But James liked it and Simon and James were a package deal, and Ethan would be kidding himself if he said he had many other options in friends.

"You into him?" James asked, ice clinking as he took a sip of his scotch.

"What?" Ethan said, almost overturning his beer glass. "No, of course not, I don't even know him."

"Oh my God," said Simon, peering owlishly at Ethan.

"What?" Ethan said again, looking between the two of them.  _"What?"_

"Who is it?" said James, thick lips turning up at the corners. "If he's from the colonies, maybe I know him."

"Yeah, what's his name?" said Simon, leaning forward, glasses glinting in the dull light.

Ethan drank more beer, felt it dribble down the front of his shirt but couldn't find the will to dab it away. "I—I'll just find someone else," he said.

Simon and James both laughed, but Ethan ignored them, drinking more beer and trying not to sulk.

"Why don't you meet him in person if he's ignoring your emails?" said Simon eventually, rolling his eyes.

"I…I don't know where to find him," Ethan mumbled.

"If you give me his name…." James said, but Ethan pretended he hadn't heard him, already thinking.

He sipped at his beer and thought about the little he knew about Sacha. He hadn't been into the financial aid office since the last time Ethan had seen him in there, and that was months ago. It was possible he'd be in again soon, but Ethan didn't want to take the chance. He knew that the office would also have Sacha's address on file, but Ethan wasn't allowed to look at those files without permission from his supervisor, and if he were caught, it would jeopardize his job.

"Ethan?"

Both Simon and James were looking at him expectantly. They were both folded into the corner of the booth, Simon leaning heavily against James, both of Simon's hands hidden beneath the table.

"I'm going to go," Ethan said, downing the rest of the beer and standing up.

"You just got here," Simon said with a noticeable lack of indignation.

Ethan sighed and slid out of the booth, quickly putting on his coat. "I'll see you later."

James nodded in his direction, but Simon appeared not to have heard him, too busy turning to skim his lips along the column of James' throat. Ethan wove his way through the crowd, ignoring the probing looks and raised eyebrows, and exited onto the dark street. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned toward his apartment.

The night was cool and cloudy. It was still early on a Friday night and most people were just now heading out to the bars. Ethan walked against the foot traffic up to his complex, letting himself in and checking his mailbox. He flipped through the papers as he shouldered open the door to his apartment, tossing a handful of ads into the trash and tossing his electric bill onto the kitchen table.

In the end, all that was left was a letter from the school. Ethan deposited his coat onto the armchair in the living room and began to unwind his scarf as he ripped open the letter.

He didn't get a chance to look at the note before he felt something rub up against his leg. He looked down at the striped, gray cat winding its way around his ankles, the long tail flicking back and forth.

"Hey, Wolfe," Ethan said, sinking down into the chair and letting the cat jump into his lap.

Wolfe meowed, bright eyes watching Ethan intently until he reached down and scratched him behind the ears. Ethan picked up the letter from the school again, which was announcing the opening of the new library next to the biology lab. Ethan frowned and turned the envelope over, saw that it was post-marked a few weeks ago.

"The bio lab," Ethan muttered, hand pausing on Wolfe's head. The cat had barely looked up before Ethan got to his feet and dislodged him. Wolfe hit the ground with a hiss and bolted to hide under the kitchen table, watching Ethan with yellow eyes.

Ethan walked to his bedroom and grabbed his computer. He looked up the new library on the school website, looked at pictures of the coffee shop, the individual study carols, and took note of the hours. He licked his lips, felt his heart pick up a little. When he climbed into bed, he was still thinking about it. At some point during the night he felt, rather than heard, Wolfe slink into the room and jump up onto the bed beside him.

#

Ethan made his way to the library the next day, swinging past the biology lab and walking slowly past it, glancing into the windows as he went. When a girl inside the building looked up and caught his eye, he blushed and hurried toward the library, keeping his eyes faced forward.

When Ethan entered the new library, he carefully scanned the small tables by the coffee shop, looking for a face he recognized. There was a smattering of people in here, sipping coffee and chatting or sitting alone with open books. Ethan singled out the dark-haired people, made sure none of them were Sacha, and then headed up a floor.

He found himself in a room full of small round tables and dead silence. He did a quick circle of the room, and then exited out the opposite side into a large, arcing chamber. A dozen long tables stood in rows almost as if they were in a chapel. Books lined the walls on each side and large windows flooded the whole room with light.

There were only a handful of people in here, and almost at once Ethan saw who he was looking for. Sacha had taken over almost half of one entire table, pens and papers strewn everywhere, a battered old laptop that looked to be held together almost completely by duct tape perched precariously on a couple of open books.

Ethan sucked in a breath and headed toward him, startling and hurrying to the other side of the room when Sacha slammed a book closed and pulled a pile of papers toward him, scribbling down a few notes. Ethan edged toward him, keeping one eye on the bookshelf and another on Sacha, who didn't seem to notice anything except the papers in front of him.

Just when Ethan had decided he needed to stop lurking and go talk to him, Sacha sighed and grabbed his computer, hauling it toward him. His fingers moved across the keys loudly, drawing a few looks from the other people in the room. Ethan glanced back at him just in time to watch him stop typing to flip off a guy who had turned to give him a dirty look. The other guy curled his lip and turned away again.

Ethan waited until Sacha went back to typing. Then he licked his lips, adjusted his shoulder bag, and walked up to him. For a few long seconds, Sacha didn't even notice his presence. Ethan glanced around and then cleared his throat.

Sacha still didn't look up. He continued to focus on his computer, tapping out what seemed to be a poorly-written term paper.

"Um," Ethan said, glancing around again. "It's—it's actually effects, not affects."

The typing stopped. Sacha looked up as though he had only just noticed Ethan was there. "What?"

"It's—it's effects. With an 'e.'" said Ethan, gesturing toward the computer screen.

_"What?"_

Ethan sat down in the chair next to Sacha, ignoring his scowl, and leaned closer to the computer. "You're talking about the effects of synaptic connections on behavioral output—effects in this case is a noun, so it's spelled with an—"

"Who the fuck are you?" Sacha said, voice frighteningly loud in the silent room.

"Oh, um, I'm Ethan," he said, holding out his hand. "I write articles for the paper."

Sacha looked down at the proffered hand and very pointedly did not shake it, just turned back to his computer. "Well,  _Ethan_ , you can fuck off. I'm busy."

Ethan wasn't sure how Sacha had managed to turn his name into something that sounded like a curse, but he didn't dwell on it for long. "I'm here to talk to you," he said.

Sacha didn't appear to hear him. Ethan watched over his shoulder as he continued pounding away at the paper. Ethan tamped down the urge to point out a few more grammatical errors, but instead just plowed forward. "For the school paper," he clarified. "I was wondering if I could interview you."

When Sacha continued to ignore him, Ethan took a breath and cast around for another topic. "So, um, you have a paper due soon?"

He watched Sacha square his jaw, gaze still averted. "For a friend," he said.

"Oh. That's—that's nice of you."

Sacha snorted, one side of his mouth twitching up. He barely glanced in Ethan's direction as he said, "It's a transaction. He gets a paper, I get a month's rent."

Ethan's stomach dropped. He could only assume that Simon hadn't known about  _this_ particular side to Sacha when he had deemed him 'eligible.' "Right," he said, gripping the strap of his bag tightly with both hands. "So, um, about the interview—"

"Not gonna happen," Sacha said. He stopped typing to flip through a book to his left, then continued again. "So why don't you get lost, I don't have time for this shit."

"Right," Ethan said again. He could see now that Sacha definitely wasn't the type of candidate Simon had in mind. "Well…thanks anyway." He stood. Sacha had gone back to pretending he didn't exist.

Ethan made it as far as the door before he glanced back. Sacha was still typing, dark hair messy and tangled. His leg was bouncing up and down beneath the table, lips just barely moving as he read through what he had written.

Ethan knew before he had backtracked to return to Sacha's side that he would regret it, yet he couldn't stop himself.

"I'll go to the Dean."

Sacha immediately stopped what he was doing to look up at Ethan, dark eyes wide. Ethan felt a small surge of triumph that he had finally gotten his attention.

"Like fuck you will," Sacha said.

"You're helping someone plagiarize, and I'm a journalist. I take that very seriously."

He wasn't expecting it when Sacha suddenly stood, chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. Ethan could feel everyone in the room watching them.

"You won't go to the Dean," Sacha said.

"Not if you let me interview you."

For a protracted moment, Ethan was almost certain Sacha was going to hit him. He could feel himself tensing, ready to duck or take it, whichever he had time for. So when Sacha's hand suddenly flew up, Ethan cringed, badly, but Sacha didn't hit him.

Ethan looked down at large, rough hand that Sacha had extended toward him, and tentatively shook it.

"Deal," Sacha muttered, squeezing Ethan's hand as though he were trying to break his fingers.

Ethan kept a straight face, allowed Sacha to hang on for a few more seconds before Ethan tugged his hand out of his grip. Sacha smirked and sank back down into his seat.

"Can I have your number?" Ethan asked.

Sacha looked up at him as though Ethan had lost his mind.  _"No."_

"For the interview," said Ethan. "Since you won't return my emails."

Sacha clenched his teeth again in a way that told Ethan that he had definitely gotten his emails. He tore the corner off a nearby piece of paper and scrawled a number for Ethan to inspect.

"Thanks," Ethan said, suddenly feeling shy again. "I'll—um, I'll call you."

"Fuck off," Sacha said again, and Ethan left.

He headed toward the exit again, pausing just inside the entrance to quickly get out his cell and call the number the number Sacha had given him. He held the phone up to his ear and listened to it ring. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Sacha suddenly paused what he was doing and dug around in his pants, pulling out a scruffy cell phone. Ethan quickly disconnected the call and left the library, feeling equal parts giddy and terrified.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Quick note—sorry I didn’t mention this before, but this story is going to switch between POVs (Sacha’s and Ethan’s to be specific). Just thought I should mention it since I know some people are turned off by that, but it’s sort of necessary for the story and hopefully it won’t be too jarring! :)
> 
> -Em

**Ethan**

The first three times Ethan called Sacha, he didn't pick up. Ethan wouldn't have taken it personally, except three calls meant three voicemails sitting in Sacha's inbox, and still he was ignoring him.

The fourth time, Ethan dialed the number without thinking about it; walking barefoot around his apartment trying to find Wolfe so he could give him a bath. He had just crouched down to peer into the dark space between the wall and the back of the couch when a voice on the other end of the line said, "Yeah, what?"

The shock of actually hearing Sacha's voice, along with the shock of Wolfe suddenly appearing from the darkness to streak past Ethan from behind the couch, made him jump and drop the phone.

"Oh no," he muttered, watching the tip of Wolfe's tail disappear around the corner toward the bedroom. Ethan was certain he had some sort of sixth-sense about bath time.

" _Hello?"_

Ethan stuck his arm behind the couch and grabbed at the phone again. "Hello, sorry," he said. "Sacha?"

"Who is this?"

"Hi, uh, this is Ethan."

"I'm not changing providers," Sacha said. "Don't call again."

"Wait!" said Ethan. "Wait, I'm not a telemarketer, I'm from The Daily."

From the other end of the line, Ethan could hear distant voices and the thumping beat of music, but Sacha was quiet.

"The school newspaper," Ethan clarified.

Still nothing.

"I, uh, talked to you last week?" he ventured.

He heard a sharp burst of female laughter on the other end of the line, but still Sacha didn't say anything.

"Um, about interviewing you?"

Sacha let out a sharp breath. "Yeah, I fucking remember," he snapped.  _"What?"_

Ethan sank down onto the arm of the couch, rubbing his eyes. "I left you a few messages," he said. "I was hoping we could find a time to get together and talk."

"Look, man—"

"It's Ethan," he said, but Sacha appeared not to hear him.

"—I'm fucking busy, I don't have time for this. Just find someone else and leave me the fuck alone."

Ethan knew that was exactly what he should do. There were other people on that list; people Ethan hadn't even tried to contact. He couldn't satisfactorily explain to himself why he felt the need to pursue Sacha, especially when he was such a poor candidate for an article. Ethan had always felt the need to take the bumpiest road; he was never one to back down from a challenge, but this went deeper than that.

He swallowed and stood up, walking to the window to watch the gray night grow steadily darker. Sacha wasn't any ordinary challenge, Ethan had known that from the start, from the first time he had walked toward Ethan in the financial aid office, looking dark and fierce and broken.

Ethan sighed. "You don't have a choice."

The silence on the other end of the line was more pronounced now, the ambient noise muted and distant. Ethan waited, chewing on his lip, wondering if Sacha was going to hang up on him, or cuss him out.

Eventually Ethan heard a quiet word, maybe in English, maybe not. Then louder Sacha said, "Tomorrow. In front of the art building at three."

Ethan straightened, surprised. He just managed to say, "Yeah, OK, I'll—" before the line disconnected.

He slowly set his phone down on the windowsill, looking out over the rooftops across the alleyway. He rubbed a thumb across his lower lip, thinking, wondering if maybe he'd gone too far. Then Wolfe meowed from the bedroom, letting Ethan know that he was forgiven, and Ethan blinked, turning away from the dim light and the drizzle that was just beginning to fall.

#

Ethan was standing in front of the art building at 2:45 the next day, watching the slow lope of students across campus. It was a Saturday afternoon and mostly deserted, but a few people still wandered across the brick pathways, ducking their heads to avoid the overgrown trees in the quad.

At 2:55, Ethan caught sight of his reflection in one of the lower windows of the building. He brushed a piece of hair back from his forehead and pulled his shirt down a bit. He straightened his glasses—purely decorative, which Simon never failed to point out when he saw Ethan wearing them, but Ethan still thought they made him look more studious and collegiate.

He whirled around when a figure appeared behind him in the glass. He shouldn't have been surprised to see Sacha, considering that's who he was here to meet, but Ethan never really expected him to be on time. If he was being honest with himself, Ethan hadn't been entirely convinced Sacha would show up at all.

"Oh, hi!" Ethan said, smiling.

Sacha gave him a flat look, expression unchanged. "How long is this going to take?" he asked.

"Well, it's kind of a big article," Ethan hedged. Simon hadn't given him many parameters outside of "make it detailed and make it good," so Ethan was interpreting that to mean long and personal.

"It's important for the school," he continued, "so we can get funding."

Sacha's eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawing in. "Why the fuck would an article about me get more funding for the school?"

"Well, not specifically about you," Ethan said. "Er, well,  _yes_ , this article is about you, but it didn't  _have_  to be you—we wanted to interview someone with a more…unique background."

Sacha blinked quickly, lips thinning. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he said. "All this fucking harassment and bullshit and you don't even  _need_  me?"

Ethan frowned faintly, scuffing his shoe against the dirty pavement. "I didn't harass you," he muttered.

He didn't see it coming when Sacha grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him up against the front of the building. Ethan's hands flew up to grab at Sacha's arms and try to push him away, but the muscles under his hands were tight and solid; unrelenting.

"Yes, you fucking  _did_!" Sacha said.

A passing girl looked up in alarm at Sacha's shout, taking in the two of them and coming to a halt. Sacha glanced toward her over his shoulder, jaw clenching. "Keep walking."

The girl glared at him but didn't move. Sacha released his grip on Ethan's collar to grip him by the sleeve instead and pull him into the building. He led them into an empty classroom and released Ethan to collarpse into one of the small individual desks; legs sprawled out in front of him and hands clenching the desktop. His knuckles were swollen and bruised.

"I'm sorry I upset you," Ethan said, setting his bag on the floor and taking a tentative seat next to Sacha.

"You didn't fucking  _upset me_ ," Sacha snapped. "You pissed me the fuck off and annoyed the shit out of me."

Ethan blinked. "Right. Well, anyway, that wasn't my intention. I just really wanted to interview you."

Sacha was quiet for a long time, eyes burning a hole in the floor as he sat and glared.

"If it helps," Ethan said, "we could meet a few times over the week, then each session would only have to be about half an hour."

"Fucking fine," Sacha said, eyes meeting Ethan's, cold fury practically emanating from him. "Let's just get this over with."

Ethan quickly unpacked his digital recorder, along with a pen and pad of paper. He turned on the recorder and looked over the questions he had compiled.

"All right, good," Ethan said. "Let's get started. Um, just for the record, I have your permission to record this conversation and write about your life and personal experiences?"

Sacha's scowl deepened. "Why—"

"We just need to record you agreeing," Ethan said. "Just for our records."

"Are you going to ask me whether or not I'm being blackmailed?" He picked up the recorder just before Ethan lunged for it, and brought it up to his mouth. "Because the answer is yes."

Ethan jumped out of his desk and wrenched the recorder out of Sacha's grasp, pressing erase before doing anything else. Sacha was smirking at him when Ethan took his seat again.

"Are we going to do this or not?" he asked. "I'll go to the Dean right now if that's what you want."

Sacha leaned forward in his seat, eyes black and glittering. "If you want to live with the guilt of making me lose my scholarship and getting kicked out of school," he said. He leaned back again, smirk returning. "But honestly,  _Ethan,_  I don't think you have the balls."

Ethan held Sacha's gaze for a long moment. Then he carefully took out his phone, and flipped through his contacts. He called his father's office number and put the phone on speaker, setting it on the desk.

A woman's voice answered after two rings; chipper and personable. "Office of the Dean, Elsa speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hi, Elsa, this is Ethan," he said. "I was hoping—"

"Oh, Ethan, dear!" Elsa tittered. "So good to hear from you; of course, I'll patch you right through to the Dean."

Sacha's eyes were transfixed on the phone, expression almost comically incredulous. When Ethan's father came over the line and started to speak, Sacha took the phone and disconnected the call. In the silence afterward, Sacha stared blankly down at the desk, jaw squared.

Ethan let the silence go on for a good twenty seconds before he set the recorder back on the desk and pressed record. "So," he said, "shall we try again?"

Sacha looked up. "You must be pretty important around here if you're such good friends with the Dean." His tone was littered heavily with disdain.

Ethan opened his mouth, surprised that Sacha didn't realize, didn't already know that he was the Dean's son. The words were right on the tip of his tongue, the truth about to spill over. Instead, what came out was, "Yes." He blinked and picked up his pen. "So, do I have your permission to record this conversation and write about your personal experiences?"

Their eyes met, Sacha still pissed and, Ethan suspected, ready to make this difficult for him. Thankfully though, something in his expression had softened, some part of his resistance broken down. Ethan wasn't quite sure if he should be proud or ashamed.

Still, when Sacha said, "Yes," Ethan felt a surge of victory.

"Good," Ethan said. "So, first question: Where are you from?"

"The Colonies," Sacha said. "Colony five."

Ethan nodded—jotted that down on his pad of paper for future research. "Do you like it there?"

Ethan looked up when Sacha took his time answering, saw that he had his arms crossed tight over his chest and was staring off to his left, toward the white expanse of wall used for projecting slideshows.

"Sacha?" Ethan prompted.

Sacha's gaze never wavered from the wall as he said, "No."

Ethan's eyebrows rose. Based on his reluctance to speak, Ethan hadn't really expected any honesty. "Why not?" Ethan asked, pen hovering above the paper. "What's it like?"

Sacha slowly turned to meet his gaze. "Dark," he said, "and dirty."

When Ethan just continued to watch him, silently asking for more information, Sacha sighed and rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms to lean them against the desktop again.

"There aren't a lot of jobs out there," he said, "and even less that pay worth a damn."

"It's dark, you said?"

"Yeah," Sacha said. "Mars isn't much farther from the sun than Earth, but it's far enough."

"Isn't it too cold to live there?" Ethan asked. 

Sacha had taken to looking at the wall again. "False atmosphere," he said. "Doesn't help with the dark, though."

"Right." Ethan jotted that down. "What was it like growing up there?"

"Why the fuck do you want to know about this?" Sacha asked, leg bouncing beneath the desk. "This is for the school isn't it, why don't you ask me about my goddamn classes then?"

"I was going to," Ethan said, "I just thought—"

"Then get on with it, go on."

Ethan frowned and scribbled something else down on his paper, moving on to questions about Sacha's major. These he answered more easily, and after twenty-five minutes when Sacha suddenly stood and said, "Same time, same place, tomorrow," Ethan watched him leave.

Then Ethan packed up his things, had just begun to close his notebook when he caught sight of the note that he made about The Colonies. He paused, staring at the hasty mark he had written when it was clear he had struck a nerve, when it was clear that Sacha's home was the real story here, the most interesting piece of the puzzle:  _Keep asking_.

So he kept asking. He asked Monday after class, when they met again, and received nothing but a stony silence in return. He asked Wednesday, ten minutes into their talk, and Sacha had picked up his bag and left. On Friday, when he asked one last time, certain that he would have to find someone else willing to talk about The Colonies, or write an article not worth the time or money spent on printing it, Sacha finally snapped.

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" he asked, voice low. He leaned toward Ethan, lips pulled back. "That it's a shithole? Because it is. You want me to tell you how fucking happy I am to be away from there? How fucking lucky I got that I was smart enough to earn a trip here instead?"

Ethan opened his mouth, but Sacha reached up and gripped his chin to keep him in place. "No, you want me to talk so fucking bad, here it is: Where the hell do you get off asking me about all this shit, huh? You don't know the first fucking thing about The Colonies, about being poor and hungry, and needing shit you don't have a hope of getting.

"The only reason I'm here is because this pretentious fucking school needs to pretend that they're God's gift to us poor bastards millions of miles away, and don't think for a goddamn _second_  that I don't know that."

Ethan blinked fast, reached a hand up to carefully close around Sacha's wrist and draw it away from his face. Sacha's eyes were fixed on Ethan's, his breathing rapid, nostrils flared.

"You're right," Ethan said quietly. "You're right, I don't understand. I'm sorry…I didn't mean to make you angry." His eyes flicked down, realizing that his hand was still on Sacha's arm, skin at the inside of his wrist warm and thin beneath Ethan's fingers.

"But maybe," Ethan continued, eyes rising to meet Sacha's gaze again. "Maybe it would help…if you—if you talked about it."

Sacha didn't say anything, breathing beginning to slow, eyes still wide. Ethan wasn't even sure if Sacha heard him, if he even knew Ethan was speaking. But then Ethan licked his lips, nervous, and Sacha's gaze glanced down to follow the movement.

"Sacha," Ethan whispered, just to hear it, just to feel the name on his lips. He could feel Sacha's heartbeat in his wrist, thought maybe it was faster than a moment ago, the skin perhaps a bit warmer.

Ethan was leaning forward before he'd even thought about it, could have counted each of Sacha's dark eyelashes in the moment before his eyes fluttered shut. Warm breath against his mouth, and then he was pushing forward even more, neck craning, lips brushing against Sacha's. Ethan hesitated then, their breath mingling. He could feel Sacha tensing beneath him, thought he knew what was coming even as the pulse at his fingertips began to race. He pressed forward further, mouth crushing against Sacha's, just managed to suck a seal around his lower lip and tug when Sacha reared back.

Ethan tightened his grip on Sacha's wrist, hoping that would keep him in place, knowing it wouldn't, and fell back in his seat as Sacha wrenched free and jumped up from his desk.

"What the  _fuck_?" he said, snatching up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulders.

"Wait, Sacha, I'm sorry," Ethan mumbled, face burning, no idea why he had done something so idiotic.

"I'm sorry," he said again as Sacha headed for the door. Ethan was just behind him, belongings abandoned as he trailed behind him into the hallway. "That was unprofessional, I'm sorry, please, it won't happen again, we just really need to finish—"

Sacha whirled around, throwing an arm out to shove Ethan a few steps back. "We're done," he said, two spots of color high on his cheeks. " _Done_. I don't want you anywhere near me."

"Sacha—"

"Fuck off," he said, clearly enunciating every syllable.

Ethan swallowed, held Sacha's gaze for a tense moment, then watched him turn and hurry off again, leaving Ethan alone and humiliated.

#

"So are you going to tell me what happened?"

Ethan groaned and shook his head, downing the shot that Simon had ordered for him as well as the one that Simon had ordered for himself. Simon raised his eyebrows, turning his head to look at the dance floor, neck shimmering in the pulsing lights of the dance club.

"I'm so stupid," Ethan said, raising his voice to be heard over the deep bass pumping through the speakers. He reached a hand up to rub his eyes and encountered his stupid fake glasses instead. "God and now I have to start all over with the article."

"You what?" Simon asked, leaning in. "Why? Ethan, come on, what happened?"

Ethan looked up just in time to watch a figure press against Simon's back. Simon stiffened, glare in place as he turned to glance over his shoulder. He relaxed when he saw it was James, tilting his head back to be kissed.

Ethan just groaned again and rapped his knuckles on the bar to the get bartender's attention.

"What's eating your ass?" James asked, shooting Ethan a wary look.

"I came onto Sacha when I went to interview him today," he said, taking the next shot the bartender passed to him and downing it in one, eyes pricking with tears.

Simon said, "You  _what_?" at the same moment James shouted, " _Sacha_?"

"Yes and yes," Ethan said. "I am…such an idiot."

" _Sacha_ ," James said again.

"You know him?" Ethan asked, cradling his head in his hands.

James snorted, scooting down the bar to make room for more people clamoring for a drink. "Yeah, I know him. Few years behind me in school, the little shit. Surprised you still have all your teeth."

"What exactly did you do?" Simon asked, face in business-mode. "Is he going to press charges?"

"No, Simon, God," Ethan said. Then he sat up, staring blankly at the lines of bottles behind the bar. "Oh my God he's going to press charges."

James laughed again, getting his hands on a beer and drinking deep. "He's not going to press charges. Kids from The Colonies don't trust the cops," he said. "If anything he's just gonna beat the shit out of you."

Ethan rubbed a hand through his hair, moved toward Simon when he felt someone come up close behind him. The presence at his back didn't decrease though, the person not even trying to get to the bar. That's when Ethan felt a hand on his thigh.

He looked down at the pale hand resting on the black of his pants and then followed a thin arm all the way up to see a small, smirking face looking up at him.

"Uh, can I help you?" Ethan asked.

The guy just smiled, cocked his head to one side so the fall of his hair exposed both clear eyes. Then he took Ethan's arm gently and tugged him toward the dance floor. Ethan glanced back at James and Simon, both of whom looked surprised but amused as Ethan was dragged away.

The guy led him to the edge of the dance floor, turning and setting his hands on Ethan's hips, pulling them together.

"Whoa, hey," Ethan said, hesitantly putting his arms around the guy's shoulders.

The other smiled, colored lights glinting off the whites of his teeth and making them glow for a short moment.

"What's your name?" Ethan shouted.

A pale hand snuck up to the back of Ethan's neck, gripping his hair and pulling him down.

"Aleks."

"Ethan," he said, nose against Aleks' throat. He turned his face just a bit, just to see if Aleks would allow him what Sacha hadn't, and grazed his lips against a spot just beneath Aleks' ear.

Aleks made a small noise, and they were pressed so tightly together that Ethan could feel him harden just a little against Ethan's thigh.

Aleks shifted his hips, pulled Ethan along with him, moving them to the beat of the bass. Ethan hardly noticed, simply let himself be led as he opened his mouth against Aleks' neck, trailing kisses down to his shoulder.

The noise Aleks made them was louder than the first, more desperate, and his hips took on a more primal edge, less moving to the music, more grinding against Ethan's thigh.

"Come on," he said, and suddenly Ethan was being led through the crowd, Aleks' hand hot on his arm.

Aleks pulled him into the bathroom, kicking open an empty stall and then shoving Ethan back against the door to hold it closed. Then Aleks was up against him, hot and sticky, lips meeting Ethan's and tongue pushing past his lips.

Ethan gasped, fingers scrabbling at Aleks' sides before finally settling on his ass and pulling them harder together. Aleks groaned into Ethan's mouth, ran both hands into his hair and gathered at the nape, opening his mouth wider over Ethan's, hips moving frantically against his thigh.

Ethan turned his face away to suck in a few deep breaths, surprised when Aleks pushed Ethan's hands away from his ass. Understood when hands fumbled with Ethan's fly, Aleks on his knees in front of him.

"I've never—" Ethan swallowed. He could hear other couples in the stalls around him, only partially drowned out by the sound of the music.

Aleks smiled and kissed the slope of Ethan's hip, hand already working at his cock, and God, Ethan was hard already, harder than he could ever remember being, just looking at Aleks kneeling in front of him on the filthy linoleum floor.

Then Aleks' tongue was flicking out to lick the head, pink tip rolling against the slit. Ethan had to drop his head back against the door to keep from coming just from that. Aleks leaned back to blow a cool breath against the head. Ethan moaned and shifted his hips, and that was all it took for Aleks' mouth to return, suck tight around the head and sink down to the base.

The breath froze in Ethan's lungs, stomach quivering as he looked down to watch Aleks pull off and then almost at once bear down again.

" _Oh_ ," Ethan said, pushing his hands into the sleek black hair. "Oh, Aleks…."

Aleks hummed, pulling up to nurse the tip again, tongue tracing little circles around the nerves at the base of the head. Then he sank all the way down, one hand lifting to roll Ethan's balls in his hand, mouth tightening, unbearably hot and sleek.

"Aleks—Aleks, I'm—"

Aleks just closed his eyes, hand tightening a bit on Ethan's balls and pulling them away from his body. Then Ethan was coming, and Aleks was swallowing hard and fast around him, finally pulling away with a slow lick across the over-sensitized nerves at the head.

Ethan shivered as Aleks stood and crushed Ethan against the door again. He pulled Ethan down, kissing him hard, transferring the bitter taste of himself to Ethan's mouth.

Aleks was still hard against his thigh, rocking slowly against him. Ethan reached down, undid the button to Aleks' pants and slipped a hand inside before he could talk himself out of it. The noise Aleks made into his mouth and the way he leaned up into Ethan's grip around his cock immediately alleviated any doubts he might have had.

It didn't take much, Aleks leaking so much already that Ethan's hand slid fast and easy up and down. He rubbed his palm over the tip, rolled his tongue against Aleks'. Then Aleks shuddered and pulled away, leaning his forehead against Ethan's shoulder and filling Ethan's hand. He fell boneless against Ethan's front afterwards, pressing kisses along Ethan's throat and tucking himself back into his pants.

He reached back and handed Ethan a wad of toilet paper, giving him one last kiss and a quick smile before he slid out of the stall. Ethan watched him go, head lolling against the wall, breath still coming fast. He wiped off his hand and flushed the toilet paper away, leaving the stall just a moment before two other men stumbled into it.

Ethan exited onto the dance floor, didn't stick around long enough to look for James or Simon. He left the club through the back door instead, only getting as far as the dumpster before he had to stop. He leaned back against the brick wall, air icy cold against his skin.

"Jesus Christ," Ethan said, all of it hitting him at once, how fucking dumb he'd been, how he had hooked up with a guy he'd known for all of ten minutes just because he'd been rejected earlier that day.

"God damn it." He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the headache that was already beginning at his temples. He leaned his head back to look at the smattering of stars in the sky, listening to the faint thumping drum beat from inside.

Ethan headed back to his apartment, trying to forget Aleks' black hair and wicked smile, and how much he reminded Ethan of someone else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say except thanks for reading! And Sacha is a dick. For realz.

**Sacha**

The overhead light flickered twice in the silent office as Sacha and his Aid Advisor, Mrs. Cameron, stared each other down. She was looking sympathetic, the fucking bitch, as though that would make the news any easier to bear.

"The fuck do you mean I'm going to lose my scholarship?" Sacha finally managed to ask, hands clenching down hard on the steel armrests of his chair.

Mrs. Cameron sighed, tapped her fingernails lightly against her desk, each of them pointed with chipping red polish. "Sacha, please, language."

"The hell do you mean I'm going to lose my scholarship?"

Her fingernails tapped faster, Mrs. Cameron pursing her lips, but she only said, "That's what I've said. If you don't get a 3.2 or higher in your American History course—"

"I'm only taking that for the fucking writing credit!" Sacha said. "It doesn't even apply to my major!"

"Sacha, you know as well as I do that receiving your scholarship is contingent upon how well you do in each individual class that you're signed up for after the second week of the quarter. It doesn't matter whether the class is for your major or not."

Sacha fell back in his seat, glaring at the flashing wall clock: 17:43. He had gotten the email a few days ago from Cameron saying she wanted to meet. The email had said it would only take a few minutes, but Sacha had been here for nearly an hour at this point. The only saving grace was that the little fag wasn't working today so Sacha didn't have to deal with anymore bullshit about the article or wanting to get into his pants.

"Yeah, I knowthe conditions of my scholarship, how the fuck do you think I got here in the first place? I can't afford to stay on Earth if I lose this."

"Sacha, please control yourself; you haven't lost anything yet," Mrs. Cameron said. "This is just a warning that your grade is slipping in your American History course."

"This is bullshit, I'm not even American!"

Mrs. Cameron sighed again and opened her mouth, but at that moment, the door to her office opened and the girl who had signed Sacha in said, "Mrs. Cameron? Sorry to interrupt, you have a message from the Dean."

"Oh?" Cameron said, straightening in her seat. "What's it about?"

"Um, Ethan." The girl stepped forward, handing Cameron a small slip of paper. "I wouldn't have interrupted," she said, eyes flicking toward Sacha, "only he insisted that you make sure Ethan won't be working this week—apparently they're going away for a bit."

Cameron's eyebrows rose. "He insisted you tell me at once?"

The girl looked at Sacha again before leaning a bit more toward Mrs. Cameron. "He was sort of…adamant."

"All right," Cameron said, sticking the paper to the face of her computer, lips pursed again. "Well, call him back and tell him I've received the message. Thanks, Jen.

The girl backed out of the room with a nod, the door clicking shut.

"The Dean is going on vacation with one of his students?" Sacha asked as soon as she was gone.

"Hmm?" Cameron asked. She had turned to her computer and was quickly tapping at her keyboard, clearly distracted.

"Ethan, the little f—the little…blond guy who works here. He and the Dean are going on a vacation together?"

Cameron turned away from her computer, a preoccupied look on her face. "Ethan's the Dean's son," she said, bemused. Then she cleared her throat. "Look, Sacha—"

But Sacha had already tuned her out, mind racing with this new information. The Dean's son—Ethan was the Dean's son; it made sense now, why the two were so close. Sacha relaxed his grip on the chair slowly, breathing fast. If he played this right, got on the kid's good side, this could work out in his favor. He needed a surefire way to keep himself on Earth and keep his scholarship, just in case, and he had just found one. Christ, the little pansy was halfway in love with him already.

Sacha picked up his bag and got to his feet. Cameron broke off in the middle of her sentence, saying "Sacha?"

He was already walking away, halfway into the hall. "See you next quarter." The door closed with a snap on Cameron's surprised face.

Sacha fingered his cell phone as he left the office, looking at the past few calls he'd received. Aleks, Aleks, Ivan, and then there, the fourth one down, the number that Sacha recognized as the one he had ignored numerous times over the past few weeks: Ethan's number.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, hopping on an empty bus to his apartment. He would call Ethan…later. Once he had a plan, once he had thought about this a little more.

Aleks was one the loveseat when he came in, skinny legs jammed up against the coffee table where he was eating dinner. He looked up when Sacha came in, bottle of beer paused halfway to his lips.

"Hey…how'd it go?"

Sacha snorted, fell onto the couch beside Aleks and took his bowl of soup, starting to eat. Aleks watched him for a moment, face impassive, before he got off the couch. Sacha heard him moving around the kitchen, the fridge door opening and closing. Then he returned with another bowl of soup and another bottle. He gave the beer to Sacha and kept the soup for himself, beginning to eat again.

"You make such a good little housewife," Sacha commented, turning to look at the little television. Pixels were beginning to discolor everywhere, random dots of red and green appearing during darker scenes. "What is this?" he asked, gesturing with the nose of his bottle toward the screen.

"Movie," Aleks said with a shrug.

Sacha opened his mouth to ask something else, but the sound a flushing toilet from the bathroom drew his attention. "Who's—"

The bathroom door opened at that moment, however, and Sacha grinned at the dark-haired man who came toward him

"Hey, _I_ -van," he said, smirking.

Ivan didn't return the expression. He sank down onto the stained armchair, a bit of stuffing falling out of the arm and onto the floor. He ran a hand across his forehead, adjusting the thin black strap of his eye patch.

"Still not funny," he muttered, but Sacha just laughed.

"Course it is," he said. "Isn't it funny, _myshonok_?"

Aleks just shrugged again, curling into the couch to eat his soup.

"Where've you been?" Ivan asked, rattling around the bottles on the coffee table, trying to find one with any beer left.

"Scholarship office," Sacha said. "Meeting with that cunt Cameron."

"She's not bad," Aleks said absently, twirling his spoon around the broth in his bowl.

"She wants to take away my scholarship!" said Sacha.

Aleks' spoon clattered against his bowl as he dropped it back into place. "Why?" His eyebrows drew in, giving Sacha a concerned look. "What did you do?"

_"Me?"_ he asked, outraged. "The fuck do you mean what did _I_ do? It's not my fault!"

Neither Ivan nor Aleks look convinced of that, both just staring at Sacha, waiting for more information.

"Oh, what, is the bitch sucking your dick or something?"

Aleks just gave him a flat look, pale eyes boring into Sacha's. "No."

Sacha felt himself flush, scowled and grabbed at his beer to hide it.

"So what did you do?" Ivan asked.

Rolling his eyes, Sacha swigged the beer around his mouth before he swallowed and said, "I guess I'm failing my American History class."

"So get a tutor," Ivan said, finally locating a half-full bottle and taking a pull.

Sacha sneered. "I'm on scholarship, you think I can afford a fucking tutor?"

"Didn't mean one you have to pay," Ivan said. It was always harder to tell with only one eye to judge from, but Sacha was pretty sure Ivan looked annoyed.

"There are free tutors at the school," Aleks said, before Sacha could ask what the fuck Ivan was talking about.

Sacha snorted, almost overturned his soup bowl as he put his feet up on the coffee table. "I don't need a goddamn tutor anyway. I know what I'm going to do."

"Pass the class?" Ivan suggested, gaze on the television screen.

"Won't have to," Sacha said, looking between the two of them.

Ivan was still focused on the television, slowly slipping beer. Aleks was looking at Sacha, his face expressionless.

"What are you going to do?" he asked carefully.

Sacha smirked and lounged back against the couch. "Going to get in good with the Dean's son."

That drew Ivan's attention away from the TV. His eyebrows rose. "Get in good how?"

Sacha opened his mouth, fingers gripping hard onto the bottle in his hand. He took a breath and then closed his mouth again, scowling. A muffled noise from across the room drew Sacha's attention. He glanced up and saw Ivan with his first pressed over his mouth. His shoulders were shaking, eyes clenched shut.

"Are you fucking laughing at me?" Sacha snapped.

Ivan composed himself long enough to say, "I just—you're—are you going to _bone him_?" before he fell back laughing again.

"The fuck is so funny about that?" he asked once Ivan had gotten himself under control.

"Well, how about the fact that you're not gay?"

Sacha's eyes flicked to Aleks before he could help himself and found Aleks scrutinizing him, his lips pressed together.

"So?" Sacha said, looking toward Ivan again. "A hole is a hole."

Aleks stood up at that moment, bowl in hand. He stepped over Sacha's legs and headed for the kitchen. Sacha glanced up, pretended he didn't notice the bright blush staining Aleks' cheeks.

Ivan snorted. "Charming," he said. "I'm sure you'll win him over in no time."

They fell into silence for a while after that. The kitchen sink turned on and then off again, nothing but the TV making any sound. By the time Aleks returned, Ivan was getting his coat and leaving for his own place.

Aleks began cleaning up afterwards, picking up all the bottles from the table and taking them to the kitchen. Sacha just watched him, allowed Aleks to nudge his legs around to pick up stray tissues and paper towels.

Sacha ignored the way Aleks was pointedly not looking at him, just cradled his beer to his chest and made sure Aleks didn't try to clean it up with the others. When he finally came to sit back down, Sacha was almost certain he had dodged a bullet.

Then Aleks said, "Are you going to sleep with him?"

Sacha gritted his teeth, stood up and headed toward his bedroom.

He heard the couch squeak, then Aleks' voice as he said, " _Делаете ли вы это, чтобы причинить мне боль?_ "

"Jesus Christ, Aleks," Sacha muttered. Wasn't going to talk to him in Russian, wasn't going to play along that this was some private, meaningful conversation they needed to have. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."

" _Подождите, мы должны говорить об этом, Саши_."

"We don't need to talk about shit," he said. He slipped inside his bedroom before Aleks could say anything else, pushing in the lock on his door and falling into his desk chair. It rolled back a few inches and bumped against the end of his bed.

Sacha sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, then pulled out his cell phone again. He looked at Ethan's number, scowling. But he still didn't know what to say, still wasn't entirely convinced that he wanted to do this. He pushed his chair toward the desk and set his phone aside for now. He wouldn't do anything. Not yet.

#

A few days later Sacha was back at his desk, groaning and staring at his piece of shit American History paper. He looked at the syllabus one more time, just to be sure that this paper was actually 40% of his grade, even though he had consulted the guide so often in the past few hours that he could recite it back to front.

"Fuck." He read through his essay again, feeling like more of a dumbass with each line he finished. Why that dumbfuck John thought it would be smart to have Sacha write his Advanced Biology paper was a mystery.

Now that it was his own grade hanging in the balance—not to mention his fucking scholarship—Sacha was determined to make this good. His eyes paused when he caught sight of the word 'affects.' He reread the sentence again, trying to figure out if that was the right kind, trying to remember what that little asshole Ethan had told him, but he couldn't do it.

Sacha stood, chair rolling violently away and bouncing against the bed. He threw his shit into his backpack and shouldered his way out of the room. Aleks, who was studying at the kitchen table, looked up when Sacha brushed past him toward the door.

"Where—"

"Out," Sacha said, door closing with a bang behind him.

He made it to the tutoring center just before they closed, signed his name up on the list of people waiting before the kid sitting behind the table could say anything about it.

He had barely sunk down into a chair when someone said, "Sacha?" and he was being led to a small round table. The girl who led him over said, "Your tutor will be right with you," and then left again.

Sacha got out the copy of his paper that he had printed out at the library and started gnawing on one of his fingernails, leg bouncing beneath the table.

A few minutes later, the chair beside him scraped noisily across the floor as someone sat down. "Sorry for the wait," the person said, and Sacha's head jerked up because that voice was unnervingly familiar.

"Midterms are always really busy for us," he was saying, taking things out of his bag and setting them on the table, "but hopefully I'll have enough time to help out. What's your name? I didn't have a chance to look at—" Ethan broke off mid-sentence when he glanced up and saw who was beside him.

"Sacha!" he said, and suddenly his face was a deep, dark red.

"You work here too?" Sacha demanded. "Jesus fucking Christ how many jobs do you have?"

"Um," Ethan said. "Just, you know, a few." He looked around the room. "I didn't know—I can—I'll find someone else to help you, one second."

He made to stand up, but Sacha caught his wrist, holding him in place. Ethan blinked behind those fucking dumb plastic glasses, his eyes focused on Sacha's hand.

"It's fine."

Ethan settled back into his seat, saying, "OK." He broke Sacha's hold on his arm by grabbing a pencil from the opposite side of the table. "Um, so what can I help you with?"

Sacha pushed the paper towards him, mind working quickly. If this wasn't a sign, he didn't know what the fuck was. He hadn't known if he was going to rope Ethan into this plan or not, not really—all that bullshit talk to Ivan and Aleks had been just that; bullshit. But now….

Ethan frowned as he looked down at the paper in front of him. He glanced up at Sacha from under his eyelashes, then glanced around again. "Is this…for you?"

Sacha scowled. "Yes it's for me. Christ."

"Just making sure," Ethan said, then he turned back to the paper.

Sacha watched as he pulled out a red pen and began marking up his essay. Every time he crossed something out or made a note, Sacha's leg bounced faster, the table shaking faintly with the movement.

"OK," Ethan finally said, setting his pen down. He hesitated and then scooted his chair a little closer to Sacha's, putting the paper on the table between them. "So, it's pretty good," he said, eyes focused downward. "Um, your thesis is a little unclear. With a paper like this you should try to be as specific as you can. Just, um, focus in on what you want to talk about."

Sacha listened carefully as Ethan spoke, outlining each little thing he had done, which sentences were convoluted or rambling. When Ethan's eyes barely glanced up to look him in the eye, when his flush darkened and he said, "And, un, right here; it's effects, not affects," Sacha almost smirked.

For a moment, he was distracted by how close they were, the way that he could feel the heat of Ethan's skin even through his clothes. When he glanced toward Sacha again, Sacha opened his mouth, steamrollering right over what Ethan was saying about the wordiness of his fifth paragraph.

"Are those real?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Ethan paused, eyebrows rising. "What?" Then he lifted a hand to his face, touching his glasses. "Oh. No."

"Tch. You're just wearing them to look pretty, then?"

Ethan frowned, a little bit of color suffusing his face again. "So?" The glare he pinned on Sacha after that could almost be classified as _cute_. "Did you have a medical reason for dying your hair?"

Sacha pursed his lips, glanced up at his bangs and the edges of blue hair he could see. When he didn't say anything else after that, Ethan continued, a little smile hovering around his lips.

"This next sentence is structurally ambiguous," he continued. "The way that it's worded implies that congress could—"

Sacha didn't even think when he put a hand on Ethan's thigh. Ethan broke off with a startled yelp, his knee jumping up to hit the bottom of the table with a bang.

"What're you doing?" he asked, eyes fixed on Sacha's hand cupped around his leg.

Sacha had never come onto a guy before, never wanted to. He had only ever fucked around with Aleks when he was drunk and horny and didn't care where he stuck it, but Aleks was always so eager, didn't need any warming up. The thigh under his hand was slim and firm though, easy to imagine it was a girl's. Then he looked up at Ethan's face, that smooth skin and big eyes. The only thing that gave him away was the angled cut to his jaw, the ball of his throat that bobbed when he swallowed.

"I didn't give you a chance the other day," Sacha said. "So, what do you think, baby?"

He lifted his other hand, ran a thumb across Ethan's flush lower lip. Such a pretty thing, really. He waited, wondering why Ethan hadn't said anything yet, if Sacha was too late; just making a fool of himself now.

"Think about what?" Ethan finally mumbled.

Sacha could feel Ethan's thigh trembling just a little under his hand. He smirked. "Going out with me."

Ethan was quiet again. Sacha almost thought he was going to say no when his gaze dropped to the table again; long, pale eyelashes casting shadows across his cheekbones, sticking out from below his glasses.

Then his gaze lifted again, head tilting into Sacha's hand. "There's a party on Friday," he said. "Um, if you want to go with me."

Sacha felt himself relax, knew the hardest part wasn't over by a longshot, but this was one battle won, and he would take the victory for what it was. "Yeah, OK."

Ethan smiled, hesitantly at first, and then wider as he looked at Sacha longer. Sacha dropped his hand, felt a swoop of something like guilt in his stomach when he saw that face, saw how excited he was, but he pushed that aside. Ethan turned back to Sacha's paper, flushing harder than ever, and Sacha kept his hand on Ethan's thigh, thumb stroking over the thin denim, focusing on his next move.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahhhhhh this chapter is so not up to par, but I'm just rolling with it at this point (Ethan at the beginning is literally me trying to write this, minus the daddy issues and daydreaming about Sacha). Thanks for reading and reviewing, you're all lovely! <3

**Ethan**

Ethan slumped down in his chair in the computer lab, drumming his fingers against the desktop, looking at the blank document opened on the screen before him. 300 words to write about the bike paths around the school and he had absolutely nothing to say. He rubbed his eyes, listening to the steady sound of Georgia's fingers on her keyboard in the corner of the room. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't focus; his thoughts continuing to stray to the one person he had been thinking about for weeks now.

Ethan hadn't spoken to Sacha since he had come into the tutoring center earlier that week. Ethan didn't know why he had invited him to the party; Simon was hosting it, it was for the newspaper, but Ethan didn't want to take the chance that Sacha would change his mind again, didn't want to make him wait.

Ethan sighed and fell back in his chair, eyes straying to his cell phone and the notification that he had one missed call from his father. Maybe Sacha wasn't the only thing responsible for his mental block.

He groaned and turned back at the white page, trying to conjure any thought that might help him start writing. The longer he stared at the blank document, the more depressed he became. There was a lingering doubt in the back of Ethan's mind, one that grew more persistent and more painful the longer he sat at the computer without doing anything. His father always said that journalism was a worthless career; too uncertain, too superfluous and unimportant…too faggy.

Recently Ethan had been thinking more and more about everything his father had told him over the years, suddenly worried now that it was time to take the plunge and declare a major that he was making the wrong decision. He hated his father for making him doubt every decision he ever made…hated himself more for allowing it to happen.

He put both hands flat on the desk in front of him and closed his eyes. He breathed in and out slowly, counting backwards from ten, trying to center himself. He opened his eyes again.

"God!" He jolted back against his seat, looking up at the person leaning toward him over his computer. "Sacha!" Ethan lifted a wrist to check his watch, saw how late it was already. "I'm sorry," he said, quickly closing out of his document and shutting down the computer. "I'm sorry," he said again, beginning to gather his things.

"Hey, relax," Sacha said, voice closer. Ethan glanced up and saw that he had rounded the desk, was now leaning back against the table beside the computer, long legs stretched in front of him.

"I lost track of time," Ethan said, stuffing papers and pens into his bag. "I have to write this article about the bike paths around the school and it's not a big deal, I just—I don't— _shit_ 1" He had tried to pick up his shoulder bag by the strap, only to have one side snap off in his hand, leaving his bag tipping precariously toward the floor.

He reeled in his bag and tucked it awkwardly under his arm, trying not to press too hard on his tablet or bend his books.

Sacha watched him struggle for a moment, smirk hovering around his lips. Then he said, "Here," and held his hand out. Ethan looked at his outstretched arm in confusion until Sacha took the bag from him.

"Ready?" he asked when he carefully slipped Ethan's bag under his arm.

Ethan flushed and nodded, grabbed up his coat and followed Sacha toward the door. He caught Georgia's eye just as they were leaving, saw her wink and smile, then burry herself in her work again. Ethan just glanced toward Sacha and then followed him out into the cold night.

"Where's this party again?" Sacha asked as they headed across campus, sky dark already, orange lampposts glowing steadily.

"At a friend's," Ethan said. "It's technically for the newspaper staff, but my editor won't mind if you come."

Sacha adjusted Ethan's bag but said nothing, just walking silently as they cut through campus to the neighborhoods beyond.

"Can I ask you something?" Ethan asked, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Sacha turned to look at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Why'd you change your mind?" he said, grateful for the dark that would hopefully hide his blush. "I mean, on Friday, when I…"

"When you kissed me," Sacha offered.

Ethan said, "Right. That." He swallowed. "When I kissed you—you were really upset. Why'd you change your mind?"

Ethan watched him closely, tried to make out his expression in the shadows. His face was turned away though, eyes surveying the overrun houses beside them.

"I never gave you a chance," Sacha finally said, turning back to Ethan.

Ethan licked his lips, almost fell off the curb he was paying so much attention to Sacha. He righted himself, ignoring Sacha's grin, and said, "Are you—I thought…it  _seemed_ like…." He paused to take a breath. "Do you even like…guys?"

Sacha slowed to a halt and Ethan immediately stopped too, worried that he had done something wrong, asked the wrong question. Sacha set Ethan's bag down on the sidewalk.

"Forget it," Ethan said quickly. "Never mind, I don't—"

And then Sacha was just in front of him, black hair catching the light from a nearby streetlamp, shining darkly. Ethan felt a hand at his face, Sacha's knuckles brushing along his cheek.

Sacha smiled, just a little, just enough to make Ethan's breath catch. "I like  _you_ ," he said.

Ethan blinked, then nodded jerkily, could feel himself grinning. His eyes moved down to the curl of Sacha's lips. He leaned forward, stretching up on his toes, but Sacha's hand moved to his shoulder and applied gentle pressure; pushing Ethan away.

Ethan flushed again, felt his stomach clench in shame.

"The party," Sacha reminded him. He leaned down and picked up Ethan's bag again, starting down the street once more. He threw Ethan an expectant look over his shoulder, and Ethan nodded, hurrying to catch up.

Every light was on in Simon's house when they arrived, music loud and the conversations even louder. Sacha and Ethan dumped their things in Simon's bedroom, then made their way back into the main part of the house.

Almost immediately, Ethan felt an arm across his shoulders, and he looked around to see Simon grinning at him, thrusting a red cup full of some bright yellow liquid into his hand.

"Jungle juice," Simon slurred. "It's  _so_  good, James made it."

Ethan glanced around, saw a sea of drunken to-be journalists in assorted states of compromising situations. "Where is James?"

He looked up in time to see Simon's flushed face fall. His hair was coming loose from his braid, blonde strands sticking to his face and neck. "He's around here somewhere," he said. "I'll go find him."

He walked away before Ethan could say anything else, heading straight toward the cooler where he poured himself another cup of jungle juice.

Ethan glanced at Sacha, who was peering around interestedly, eyes taking in the men and women talking and drinking and dancing.

"Um, do you want something?" Ethan asked, gesturing to his cup.

Sacha glanced at the neon yellow contents of Ethan's cup and curled his lip. "Think they've got any beer?"

"Probably in the kitchen," Ethan said.

Sacha patted Ethan's hip and stalked off, wending his way easily through the gathering crowd. He had barely left Ethan's sight when Ethan felt a hand at his shoulder.

"Georgia," he said, surprised. "How did you make it here so fast?"

"I left just after you did," Georgia said, brushing a lock of pale brown hair behind her ear. "Plus I know a shortcut," she added, tapping her temple with a wink.

"Did you finish your article?"

Georgia nodded, taking Ethan by the arm and leading him to a recently abandoned couch. On a table nearby there was another cooler and more plastic cups.

"Yeah, I finished," Georgia said. "Good thing too, Simon wanted it done a few days ago. Thought he might throw me out if I showed up and it wasn't finished. How's yours coming?"

Ethan groaned and took a gulp of his drink. He had no clue what was in it, but it tasted a hell of a lot better than it looked. "Why is it so hard to write about some stupid bike paths?"

"Maybe because you have to write about some stupid bike paths?" Georgia said.

Ethan laughed, drank some more, and suddenly he couldn't stop the stream of words coming out of his mouth. Georgia took it all in stride, nodding and supplying Ethan with an endless stream of alcohol, listening to him complain about everything he had been holding in for too long, every doubt and angry thought he had ever had about journalism and his father.

By the time Ethan had talked himself into exhaustion, Georgia was sympathetically stroking his arm, and Ethan's mouth was numb, head lolling back on the couch. He realized suddenly that Sacha was nearby with a few people Ethan didn't know. His eyes were on Ethan though, watching him over the rim of his beer can.

"Sacha!" Ethan surged to his feet and watched the room swirl around him. The only thing that kept him on his feet was Georgia's steadying hand on his arm. "God, I'm sorry," Ethan said, stumbling forward.

Sacha caught him with a harsh grip on his elbow, Georgia passing Ethan off and lounging back on the couch.

"I'm sorry," Ethan said again. "I just—I got distracted, I didn't mean to—to—" He broke off, struggling to keep his train of thought.

Sacha frowned, and suddenly Ethan was in another room altogether with no memory of how he got there. Sacha's hands were on his shoulders and arms, and Ethan focused in on the feeling, leaning into the touch until the hands left, and Ethan felt heavy fabric over his shoulders; his coat. Then they were outside, cool air rushing against the skin of Ethan's face and neck, burning against his heated skin.

"We're leaving?" he asked, hiccupping.

When Sacha said, "Yes," Ethan let his eyes slip closed for a moment, allowing Sacha to drag him along.

Then suddenly, his eyes opened. "My—my place is—"

"We're going to mine," Sacha said. "It's close."

"My bag—" Ethan said then.

"I've got it," Sacha said. "Shut up."

Ethan shut up. He could feel himself walking, feel Sacha leading him, but it seemed like no time at all before they were entering a building, walking through one doorway and then another.

He collapsed onto something soft, something that creaked faintly when he moved and that smelled like Sacha. Ethan turned his head, breathing in the smell, felt hands on his ankles. When he glanced down, he could just make out Sacha sitting on the end of the bed, taking off Ethan's shoes.

"You're different now," Ethan said.

Sacha glanced up, one of Ethan's shoes thudding to the floor. "Different than when?" he asked.

"Before," Ethan murmured, rising into a sitting position, pushing his hand into the hair at the nape of Sacha's neck.

The other shoe fell to the ground. "What do you mean?"

"Less mean," Ethan sighed. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Sacha's temple, fingers still rubbing over the hot skin at the back of his neck.

Sacha made a soft noise, hand curled around Ethan's legs in his lap. "You want me to be mean?" he asked, voice low; a quiet threat in the darkness.

Ethan clenched his eyes shut, scooted closer to Sacha and breathed in deep. He was pushed away though, just like every other time, Sacha shoving him back. Unlike every other time, however, Sacha pushed him down and then followed just after, pinning Ethan's wrists to the mattress, throwing a leg over his hips and siting down hard in his lap. "You want me to push you around?" he asked.

Ethan was burning up, skin frighteningly warm as he watched Sacha straddle him in the near-darkness. Orange light from the street outside was the only thing illuminating the room, coming in through the small window, falling across the left side of Sacha's face. Ethan lifted his hips just a little, an instinctive thrust, bit his lip and nodded.

Sacha leaned forward, pressing Ethan's wrists into his mattress, dark hair brushing against Ethan's forehead.

"I heard you talking about your dad."

Ethan blinked, frowned. "What?"

"Sounds like a dick," Sacha continued, shifting his hips against Ethan, drawing Ethan's attention to the fact that he was still sober enough to get hard.

"He's—"

Sacha leaned down even farther, nose brushing against Ethan's. "You get off on being used?"

"What—" he began, but then Sacha's teeth closed around his lower lip. Ethan surged up as far as he could with his arms still pinned, but Sacha had already drawn away, Ethan's lip slipping back into place.

Ethan licked his lips, trying to chase some part of Sacha, taste some part of him, bring him into himself. He raised his hips again, but Sacha shifted, hooked his ankles over the top of Ethan's legs to keep him in place. "Sacha…."

He put his lips to Ethan's ear, breathing hot against his neck, fluttering his hair. "You want me to push you around just like your daddy does?"

Ethan's breath caught, eyes narrowing. He swallowed, turned his head away and glared as Sacha slowly leaned back, smirk evident even in the dim light.

"Are you going to fuck me or just keep talking about my dad?" Ethan snapped.

Sacha held his gaze for a long time. When he let go of Ethan's wrists, Ethan immediately reached up to grip the front of his shirt. Sacha snorted.

"No, I'm not going to fuck you. You're drunk."

He untangled himself from Ethan's grip and climbed off the bed. Ethan almost made to follow him, but Sacha reached a hand back to shove him back down. Ethan's stomach rolled at the movement, and he hastily reached a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Christ," Sacha muttered. Something thumped to the floor beside Ethan. "If you're going to puke, do it in this, and  _not_  in my fucking bed."

Ethan heard him start to move away again. "Wait."

The creak of a floorboard as Sacha came to a halt. "I'm sorry," Ethan said, throwing an arm over his eyes. "I'm sorry, this was…a terrible first date."

When Sacha moved toward him again, Ethan didn't even hear it, only knew he was close when Sacha ran fingers through his hair. Ethan lowered his arm, looked up at Sacha hovering over him.

"Why'd you want to know about my dad anyway?" Ethan asked, eyelids fluttering at the feeling of Sacha's hand in his hair, fingers pulling gently.

Sacha's jaw flexed, eyebrows drawing in for a moment before relaxing. "Sober up," he said. "And puke in the trash."

He drew away again, and Ethan stopped him once more. "Wait, aren't—aren't you going to stay here with me?"

The bedroom door opened, light from the hallway pouring in, backlighting Sacha and turning him into nothing more than a black silhouette. He snorted and then walked out, closing the door behind him.

Ethan had half a mind to follow him and drag him back, but when he closed his eyes and made to gather his strength, he realized he didn't have any left. He rolled over, buried his face in Sacha's pillow, and fell asleep.

#

He didn't puke in the trash can. When Ethan woke up to a pounding headache and stale, cottony mouth, he carefully looked around himself, felt a stab of relief when he realized he hadn't thrown up at all.

He slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, gritting his teeth when his head throbbed. He paused, then stood up, padding out of the room and into the hallway. He passed a couch on his way to the kitchen, hesitated when he saw Sacha sprawled out across it on his stomach, mouth smashed against the cushions, open and leaking drool.

Ethan continued, opening cabinets until he found one that held glasses, filling it up with water and drinking deep. He repeated the action over and over, standing in front of the sink and quenching his thirst. When he heard footsteps behind him, he thought it was Sacha. He hastily set the glass down on the counter and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, turning around just as someone entered the kitchen.

It wasn't Sacha.

"Aleks?" Ethan said, headache pounding harder just at the sight of him. "What—what are you doing here?"

Aleks' eyes were wide, long t-shirt dwarfing his small frame and making him look like a child as he stared in shock at Ethan. Eventually Aleks cleared his throat. "I live here," he said.

Ethan thought he could see the little color in Aleks' face slowly drain out of it as he glanced over his shoulder, back toward the living room. "Did you come here with Sacha?"

Ethan glanced down, face heating up. He nodded.

Aleks was scrutinizing him when Ethan looked up again. His face was drawn in and pinched, thinking hard. He took a few steps forward and said, "Ethan…."

But at a groan from the other room and the squeak of springs, Aleks broke off. He walked to the sink, brushing up against Ethan's side. "Don't say anything," he muttered.

Ethan started to ask, but Aleks dug a sharp elbow into his ribs, making Ethan break off in a gasp just as Sacha entered the kitchen.

"Morning," Aleks said, turning on the faucet and reaching for the coffee pot.

Sacha scowled, didn't say a word as he fell into a chair at the kitchen table. It was quiet as the coffee brewed, Sacha yawning and rubbing his neck, Ethan watching Aleks as he got out mugs.

"You two ladies introduce yourselves yet?" Sacha asked, peering blearily at them, head cradled in his hand.

Ethan looked up, caught the barest glance from Aleks, who set a mug of coffee in front of Sacha before pouring one for himself and one for Ethan.

"Yes," Aleks said, fingers brushing Ethan's as he handed him his cup. He moved to the table and sat down, watching Ethan, blank-faced.

Ethan swallowed, looking between the two of them. He knew he should tell Sacha; it had been one hook up, fast and seedy and meaningless, but Aleks was still looking his way. He shook his head slightly when Ethan caught his eye, pale eyes unblinking.

The coffee was too hot, too strong, but Ethan drank it anyway, taking a seat at the table as well. "Yes," he agreed, avoiding both gazes directed at him. "We just met."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sacha**

Ethan only drank a few sips of his coffee before he started quietly gathering his things. Sacha watched him blush and stumble around, still a little drunk, a little shy; uncomfortable and out of place in this dumpy apartment with some foreign low-lifes. The front door had barely closed on his skinny little ass before Aleks was standing, looking at Sacha as if he were readying himself for a fight.

"What?" Sacha said, scooping up the discarded mugs and dumping them in the sink.

_"Я действительно не думаю, что вы должны сделать это."_

Sacha turned on the faucet, letting the water run over the dishes accumulating in the sink. "Speak English, you little shit. You're never going to get any better if you don't try."

Aleks gave him a dark look and said, "Fine. I don't think you should do this…to him."

Sacha snorted, started clumsily washing the dishes, just to have something to do with his hands. "Yeah, I get it; you're jealous." He slanted Aleks a look, smirking. "It's OK though, I haven't fucked him yet."

Aleks was quiet for a long moment, just watching him. When he finally spoke, his voice was so low Sacha almost missed it over the rush of the faucet. "It isn't fair to him, Sacha."

Gritting his teeth, Sacha turned off the tap with a hard push, then turned to face Aleks. "Not fair to  _him_? The little pansy's been panting after me for months now; I'm practically doing him a fucking favor." He was about to go on, but instead just snorted and said, "Fuck you, Aleks."

"Sacha—"

"If I wanted your opinion, I would've asked for it," he said, shoving past Aleks toward his bedroom.

He felt Aleks' eyes on his back as he walked away, heard him say, "I never thought you were this cruel," in the instant before Sacha's bedroom door closed.

Sacha took a few steps back, sinking down onto his bed. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Aleks never liked it when he smoked in the apartment, said the landlord would charge them a fortune to clean the place once their lease was up if it smelled like cigarettes. Sacha didn't give a fuck though; was too antsy and pissed off and fuck Aleks, anyway.

He sat there smoking, listening to Aleks' quiet shuffling in the other room, trying to forget about everything Aleks had said and failing spectacularly. Where the fuck did Aleks get off telling him what to do? They had known each other for years, grown up together, but just because he liked to pretend Sacha didn't have a conscience didn't mean it was true. Sacha scrubbed a hand through his hair, breathing in deep, felt himself relax just a little.

Besides, Ethan was a big boy, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. All Sacha wanted was a chance to meet the Dean, make a good impression, ensure his scholarship status for a few more years. This thing with Ethan would blow over; Sacha would give him what he wanted and they would split up. Ethan wasn't going to get hurt; that wasn't part of the fucking plan. Aleks was just being an oversensitive bitch.

Sacha thought about the pile of work that he had to do. He finished his cigarette, trying to take as long as he possibly could. When he finally finished, dropping the butt into an old cup of cold coffee, he rubbed himself down in the shower, trying to erase any smell of cigarette smoke and avoid a bitching out from Aleks. Afterward, Sacha dropped into his desk chair and thought about the pile of shit he had to do, just letting it all sink in, before he finally pulled his computer toward him and got started.

He didn't talk to Aleks the whole day, could occasionally hear him moving around, or the quiet tune of music coming through the wall. Sacha hardly left his room at all though, except to piss and scrounge hopelessly through the fridge for something to eat.

When his eyes couldn't focus on any text anymore, when his head was starting to pound, Sacha called it quits for the day. He lit another cigarette without even thinking about it, part of him thinking that Aleks was trying to tailor all his bad habits; trying to turn him into some kind of fucking  _saint._

"Fuck," he muttered. He pulled out his cell phone and quickly scrolled through to Ivan's number, taking the cigarette out of his mouth while it rang.

Ivan picked up after a few rings, sounding tired. "Yeah?"

"Busy?" Sacha asked, already gathering his things, trying not to burn anything with the cigarette still dangling from his fingers.

"Studying," Ivan said, "but I'm done. What'd you have in mind?"

"Toys Topless," Sacha said, trying to toe on his shoes with little success. "Twenty minutes?"

"See you."

Sacha hung up and quickly finished his cigarette. He gathered his things and left his room. He glanced at Aleks' door on the way out; cracked open as if he wanted to make it clear that he wasn't angry, that Sacha could come in if he wanted. Sacha snorted and kept walking, made sure to slam the front door extra loud to let Aleks know he was gone.

He caught a bus heading south toward the city, hopped off fifteen minutes later and walked the few blocks to Toys Topless. Ivan was already waiting outside; leaning back against the dirty white building, watching the cars pass by on the highway nearby.

Sacha led the way inside, opening the heavy door and allowing the shitty music and wide array of smells hit him full-on. It was a seedy little strip club, small and low-rent, but it reminded him a bit of the clubs back home, only the girls here weren't quite so emaciated, their skin a little more flush.

The bouncer nodded when he saw the two of them, said, "Boys."

"John," Sacha said, slipping him a few bills when they shook hands.

John grinned—fuck, but he was easy to buy—and led them over to a booth a few meters from the stage. He sent over a girl in a thong and pasties right after that, then headed back to his post at the door.

"Sacha, Ivan," the girl—Daphne—said, grinning wide and cocking her hip, leaning down to put a hand on the table. "What can I get you boys?"

"Scotch. On the rocks," Ivan said.

"Two," Sacha added.

Daphne winked and sauntered back toward the bar, long blonde hair swinging behind her in time with her hips. They definitely didn't make them like that in the colonies; all the girls there were too skinny, too pale and breakable. Unbidden, an image of Ethan floated into Sacha's mind then. He would fit in well with the girls in the colonies, all long limbs and skinny frame and pale, pale skin.

"So how's your project going?" Ivan asked, turning to watch the girl dancing on stage.

Sacha followed his gaze, got distracted for a moment at the sight of Candy's dark frame twisting herself around an unpolished pole, the muscles in her legs flexing as she lowered herself toward the floor. "You talk to Aleks?" he asked.

Ivan snorted, waited until Daphne had set their drinks down and walked away again before he said, "Yeah, he called me. Said you're actually going through with it."

"Told you I was," Sacha muttered, pulling out a cigarette.

Ivan took a sip of his drink, still not looking Sacha's way. "Guess I didn't think you'd actually do it."

"Tch," Sacha said, blowing smoke away from the table.

After a minute of silence, watching Candy crawl along the floor, letting guys slip money into her G-string, Ivan slid Sacha a little glance and a knowing smirk. "So, are you gay now?"

"No," Sacha said, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette into an overflowing ashtray. "The guy is practically a girl already."

"Except for having a dick," Ivan said. "Will you even be able to get it up for a guy?"

Sacha frowned, watched as Candy left the stage to be replaced by Daphne, hips swaying, that tiny little waste twisting from side to side. "Yeah," he said, thinking of all the things he and Aleks had done together. He had never had a problem getting it up, not for anybody.

Ivan snorted, hiding his smile behind his glass.

"Would I even be here if I was gay?" Sacha said, gesturing at the naked girls around them.

" _I'm_  here," Ivan said.

Sacha rolled his eyes, pulled on his cigarette. "That doesn't count; you're bi."

Ivan sighed, the sound lost beneath the din of outdated music and low-level chatter in the club. "Look, I don't have to tell you this is a real dick move."

"Why the fuck are you talking, then?" Sacha snapped. "Christ, you and Aleks make it sound like I'm the fucking  _devil_  for giving the little fag exactly what he wants."

Ivan fixed him with a stony glare, hand clenched around his cup. "You're telling me the little  _fag_  wants to be led on?"

"He wants me to fuck him!" Sacha said, fingers clenching and bending his cigarette. "Since when is that a goddamn crime?"

Ivan's good eye narrowed. "You sure that's all he wants?"

Sacha opened his mouth, closed it. He took a drag on his cigarette and then sipped his drink. "Christ, shut the fuck up. I'm going to do this; I'm going to keep my scholarship."

"If you just did all your work, you would never lose your scholarship," said Ivan.

"Fuck off, it's not about that. I need a fallback plan. This isn't just about this year; this is about the future." He drained his glass, cigarette burning down and scorching his fingers. He dropped it in the ashtray and lit another. "I'm not going back to the colonies." He tried to stop his hands from shaking as he lifted the cigarette to his lips. "I didn't go through all this fucking work just to be sent back to the colonies to work in the mines like some fucking  _slave_."

Ivan didn't say anything about that, looking pointedly toward the stage again. For a long time, they were both quiet, just watching the girls dance. Sacha went through another cigarette.

Eventually, Ivan cleared his throat and said, "I guess…be careful, then."

Sacha gritted his teeth, stubbed out his last cigarette. "Yeah," he muttered, throwing a few bills down onto the table and standing up. "Fuck you."

Ivan didn't call him back as Sacha walked away. He passed John on his way out the door, breathing in the cool, fresh air. He braced himself for an interrogation the whole way home, hesitated outside his front door as if he were some cheating boyfriend. He gritted his teeth and shouldered his way inside.

Aleks was curled into the couch, watching TV. He looked up when the door opened, and Sacha had known him long enough to recognize the relief that flitted across his face. Sacha closed the door behind him and threw the lock, ignoring Aleks' eyes following him as he walked to the kitchen to get a beer. He came back and slumped down beside Aleks, their legs touching.

"You going to crawl up my ass some more?" Sacha asked, downing half his beer in one.

Aleks shook his head, slanted Sacha a glance and scooted just a little bit closer. Sacha put his beer down on the table, put his other hand on Aleks' thigh. He heard Aleks catch his breath, push his leg up into the touch. So easy, he was always so fucking easy.

When Sacha didn't do anything else, just swiped a thumb over the top of Aleks' leg, Aleks gripped his hand and moved it up; pressing Sacha's palm between his legs. Christ,  _so_   _easy_.

Sacha massaged Aleks through his thin pajama bottoms, watching a dull flush suffuse his cheeks, feeling him get hard in seconds. Then suddenly Aleks was in his lap, sitting down hard and rolling his hips, squirming on top of Sacha's dick.

Sacha slid his hands up the back of Aleks' shirt, rubbing his palms over the skin, the little ridges and bumps of his scars. Aleks didn't waste any time; sucked his lower lip into this mouth and reached between them to undo Sacha's pants and pull his cock out, pulling his own out as well. He spit into the palm of his hand and then gripped them both, tugging up.

Sacha's head fell back against the couch as he groaned. His hands dropped to grip Aleks by the hips, thumbs sweeping across the smooth skin over his hipbones. He glanced down to where Aleks was jerking them both off, pale little hand gripping them tight, his hips jerking forward every few seconds, trying to press them closer.

Aleks lip was caught hard between his teeth, his eyebrows drawn in. His breathing was quickening, tiny little noises slipping out of his mouth every now and then. Sacha dug his hands in deeper, clenching his fingers hard in Aleks' ass. The sound that came out of Aleks' mouth at that was far from quiet.

"Fuck," Sacha muttered, could feel his balls drawing up, his orgasm hitting him that fast with Alek's ass in his hands, his cock rubbing against Sacha's.

Aleks' hand suddenly slid slick as hell between them with Sacha's come, his eyes clenched shut and hand flying on himself. Sacha just watched him, heavy-lidded and sated.

When Aleks' eyes opened and he leaned forward, saying, "Sacha," he knew what Aleks wanted. Sacha gripped his ass harder, digging his fingers in, spreading him apart. At the same moment he surged up, pulled Aleks' lip out of his mouth and sucked it into his instead.

Aleks moaned, knuckles scrubbing against Sacha's stomach as he worked himself, tongue rolling hot against Sacha's, finally spilling hot over his hand and Sacha's shirt. He didn't move away immediately, hand slowing down, lips and tongue moving softly against Sacha's.

Eventually, Sacha sighed and leaned back, hands sliding to his pants and tucking himself back in. Aleks licked his lips, eyes still focused on Sacha's mouth. He slowly climbed off Sacha's lap, grabbing a few tissues and wiping his hands. Then he fell to his knees in front of Sacha, reaching forward.

"What—"

Aleks bypassed his pants, however, reaching up to wipe away the mess on Sacha's shirt. Sacha just snorted, let Aleks flush and dab him clean. When he was done, Aleks threw away the tissues and then came back to sit on the couch beside Sacha.

Sacha picked up his beer again, sipping as they watched television. Aleks curled back into his corner of the couch, knees pulled against his chest. Sacha finished his beer, setting the empty bottle onto the low table. He slanted Aleks a glance, saw that he was red-faced and uncomfortable, staring blankly in front of him.

Sacha slapped Aleks' knee, making him jump. "Thanks for that," he said, standing up.

"You're leaving?" Aleks asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"To my room," Sacha said, smirking. "Have to call Ethan,"

Aleks' face went perfectly blank as he nodded. Sacha turned away, went into his room and closed the door behind him. He stripped off his shirt and threw it in the corner of the room with the rest of his dirty clothes. Then he pulled out his phone, dialing Ethan's number.

He answered quickly, halfway through the first ring. His voice was breathless when he said, "Hello?"

Sacha sat down on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees. "Hey, baby."

"Sacha," Ethan said, and Sacha could practically  _hear_  him smile.

"You busy tomorrow?"

Ethan hesitated. Sacha heard something clatter in the background and Ethan said, "Shit." Then louder, he said, "Um, no! No, what did you have in mind?"

"There's a pub on 50th and 15th; The Crown."

"Yeah, I've—I've seen it," Ethan said.

"Seven?"

Another hesitation. After a second, Ethan said, "Yeah! Yeah, OK, I'll see you then."

Sacha smirked. "See you." He hung up, tossing his phone onto the floor and falling back onto the bed.

He stripped out of the rest of his clothes, pulling the sheets over himself and hunkering down. A little while later he heard Aleks' door close, and then the bedsprings squeaking as he lay down. Sacha sighed and closed his eyes, drifting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Toys Topless was actually a hilariously bad strip club kind of near where I live. Unfortunately out of business now.   
> (It also took me about twenty drives past it to realize that it was a strip club instead of a toy store oops). 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! :) <3
> 
> -Em


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3

**Ethan**

At 6:50, Ethan got to the bar. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Sacha he had seen it before. However, he hadn't mentioned that he'd never gone inside; had passed it time after time and hurried by, too scared by all the dark-haired people inside. It was the type of place James would undoubtedly like, and the type of place that would make Ethan uncomfortable.

After avoiding the gazes of a few people who passed Ethan on the way into the bar, he decided that waiting inside would be better than waiting outside. The place was surprisingly crowded for a Sunday night, but Ethan managed to snag a little table pressed against the wall.

He didn't get a drink, too worried about going up to the bar and losing his spot. Instead, Ethan just sat and waited, fiddling with his phone, avoiding the few curious glances thrown his way.

By 7:10, Ethan was nervously glancing toward the door every time it opened, arms crossed tight over his chest. By 7:20 he had set his phone flat on the table and was tapping it every few seconds, checking to make sure that Sacha hadn't texted him. By 7:45, Ethan was staring desolately at the wall, his chest tight, for it was obvious that Sacha wasn't coming. He had just begun to gather his things, ready to make his way out of the bar and head home alone, when someone suddenly set a drink down on the table in front of him.

Ethan's head jerked up, expecting Sacha, but he didn't recognize the person beside him; dark and handsome with a hooked nose and a black patch over his left eye. "Drink?" the stranger asked.

"Oh," Ethan said, looking down at the glass tumbler in front of him. "Well, I was actually—" He broke off when the screen on his phone lit up. He had a new text message, but it wasn't from Sacha. Ethan's jaw tightened. "Yes," he amended. "Thank you." He picked up the glass and took a gulp, wincing.

The stranger smiled and said, "May I?" He gestured to the seat across from Ethan, who nodded. "I'm Ivan," he said, holding out his hand.

Ethan shook it, said, "Ethan," before he picked up his drink and sipped again.

"You've been here for a while," Ivan noted. "Were you waiting for someone?"

Ethan snorted, cupped both hands around the cold glass. "I thought so," he said.

"Someone stood you up?" Ivan said with a flattering amount of surprise.

Ethan glanced up from below his lashes, smiled slightly. "Yeah. He must be…busy." He sipped his drink again.

Ivan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and fingering the glass of his own drink. "Must be an asshole," he said. "No other reason to leave you alone with no warning."

Ethan didn't say anything, mostly because Sacha  _was_  a bit of an asshole, and that was nothing new to him. Still, he was the one who had asked Ethan out in the first place; Ethan expected him to at least  _show up_.

"Yeah," Ethan said eventually, "maybe."

"Well, forget him," Ivan said. He picked up his glass and tilted it toward Ethan. "His loss."

Ethan swallowed, tapped his glass to Ivan's, then they both drank.

"So, Ethan, you go to the University?" Ivan asked.

"Yes," Ethan said. He glanced up, surveying Ivan again. "D—do you?"

Ivan smiled. "Are you surprised?"

"No," Ethan said at once. "No. I mean, I work in the scholarship office, I know—" He stopped, eyes widening, then backtracked. "Or, well—that's not to say—I don't know if you're on scholarship, I didn't mean—" Ethan broke off at the sound of Ivan laughing.

"Kind of obvious, isn't it?" Ivan said.

"No!," Ethan said again. "No, it isn't."

"You're sweet," said Ivan, head tilting to the side, still smiling. "It's OK, I understand." He looked around the darkened bar and Ethan followed his example. There were only a few fair-haired people in a sea of immigrants, and they all stuck out like sour thumbs.

Ethan couldn't quite explain it, but people from the colonies had a certain look about them. Most were dark-haired, true, but even those who weren't carried themselves a certain way, with shifting eyes and closed expressions. Broody, Ethan's mother described them. His father used different terms.

"So what are you studying?" Ethan asked to cover the awkward moment. He lifted the glass to his lips to find that the only thing left was ice. He set it back on the table again, on top of an overlapping crisscross of stains and water rings.

"Business," Ivan said. "I'm thinking about going back to the colonies afterward, maybe to teach people, help grow the economy. There aren't many businesses there, mostly a lot of blue-collar jobs."

"That's what I'd heard," Ethan said, making a mental note. He still had so much to learn about the colonies, so much to put in his article that Sacha hadn't told him.

So fucking much that Sacha hadn't done for him. Once more, Ethan lifted the cup to his lips and then set it down.

Ivan's eyes followed the movement. "Another drink?" he asked, preparing to stand.

Ethan shook his head. The bar was getting steadily more crowded, more rowdy. There were a few men at the bar who looked on the brink of getting into a fistfight. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" he asked. "Somewhere private?"

Ivan's eyebrows rose, surprise flitting across his face as he said, "Uh, sure. My apartment is close…if you want to go there."

Ethan was already grabbing his jacket, picking up his phone from the table and tapping on the screen. One message from Simon. Zero from Sacha.

"Yes," he said, standing up. "Let's go."

On the way to Ivan's place, Ivan asked him what he was studying, and how he liked it. It was on the tip of Ethan's tongue to say that he was rethinking his major, that he was studying journalism but didn't know if he would continue, but in the end all he said was, "It's…interesting."

"You could do broadcast journalism," Ivan said, giving Ethan a glance. On the well-lit street, Ethan could see his cheeks go a little pink as he said, "You've got the looks."

Ethan smiled, flushing as well. He faced forward again, didn't realize how close he was walking to Ivan until their hands brushed. He glanced up at Ivan's face, didn't have time to feel embarrassed before Ivan had stopped at a black door with a small window. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it, pulling open the door and letting Ethan inside.

They headed up a narrow flight of stairs, Ethan looking down at the dirty, white linoleum under his feet. When Ivan unlocked the door to his place, Ethan was already having second thoughts. He had just left a bar to go home with someone he had just met; this was even stupider than a random hookup at a club. He was almost ready to leave, to go home and pretend this had never happened, when Ivan turned and smiled at him. Ethan glanced past him, into the exposed bit of the apartment he could see. It was neat, plainly furnished. There was a picture in a frame on a table beside an overstuffed sofa.

"You want to come in?" Ivan asked. His face was open, hopeful but not expectant. Ethan was certain that if he  _did_  leave, if he just turned and walked away right now, Ivan wouldn't hold it against him.

It was this more than anything that made up Ethan's mind. He nodded, stepping past Ivan into the bright apartment. He glanced around again, peered into the kitchen as he walked past it.

"Um, do you want anything?" Ivan asked. He was still by the front door, watching as Ethan slowly surveyed the living the room. He ran his palms over the denim at his thighs, then smiled sheepishly when Ethan caught him.

"I could have another drink," Ethan said, stepping into the kitchen.

Ivan followed just behind him, pulling down a bottle of scotch. He raised his eyebrows as he showed it to Ethan, who nodded. He hovered at Ivan's elbow, watching as he poured scotch into two glasses. When Ivan handed him a glass, Ethan just smiled and took it, waiting for Ivan to take a sip before he did.

They moved back out to the living room, talking and drinking. By the time Ivan offered him a second drink, Ethan was pressed up against Ivan's side, feeling overwarm. When Ivan came back from the kitchen, Ethan caught sight of the picture he had seen earlier, finally taking in the front.

He leaned across Ivan to pick it up, smiling at the tan woman with graying hair who was smiling and winking at the camera. Ethan glanced up, thought Ivan was flushing a little darker now.

"Is this your mom?" Ethan asked.

Ivan huffed out a little laugh, lips curling up. "Uh, yeah."

"She's beautiful," Ethan said as Ivan took the picture back and carefully set it face-down on the small table. "Is she still in the colonies?"

Ivan nodded, draped an arm across the back of the couch behind Ethan. "You know, you never asked."

Ethan raised his eyebrows, didn't say anything about the change of subject. He tipped his head back, resting it against the firm pressure of Ivan's arm. "Ask what?"

"About this." With his free hand, Ivan gestured to the black cloth of his eye patch.

"I didn't want to pry," said Ethan.

Ivan's pinned arm bent, his fingers reaching around to brush against Ethan's jaw and cheek. "Do you want to know?"

Ethan nodded, leaning forward to set his drink down on the table, then settling in again, cuddling against Ivan's side.

"It was a few years ago," he said. "My mom, my brother, and I were in a car accident in the colonies. My mom…she hadn't driven much, the car was a friend's."

"You didn't have a car?"

Ivan shook his head slowly, lips brushing against the glass in his hand. "We walked most places," he said. "Everyone does."

He took a breath. "We were driving along a service road…the weather was terrible; it was around the time the false atmosphere was wearing thin in places, and the climate was unpredictable. We spun out, flipped off the road. One of the windows shattered, and a piece of glass…." He trailed off, pointing to his bad eye.

"Oh wow," said Ethan. He realized suddenly that his hand was on Ivan's chest, though he didn't remember putting it there.

Ivan nodded, setting down his drink on the table, giving Ethan a little glance.

"That's so sad," Ethan continued. He reached up, ran a finger across the side of Ivan's face, touching the thin black strap of his eye patch.

Ivan turned his head, ran cold lips against the palm of Ethan's hand. "You're sweet," he said, voice muffled against Ethan's palm. Ethan swallowed, dropped his grip to the front of Ivan's shirt and jerked him forward, feeling those cool lips against his own.

Ivan sighed like he'd been waiting for this, like it was a relief that Ethan had made the first move. He wrapped his arm around Ethan's shoulders and pulled him closer, forcing Ethan to gasp and land hard against Ivan's chest, knee wedged between both of his. Ivan threaded his other hand in Ethan's hair, tilting his head back and pushing his tongue into Ethan's mouth, sweeping hot against his. Gripping the back of Ivan's neck, Ethan pushed even closer, slotting himself against Ivan's front, taking advantage of someone who actually wanted him.

Eventually, they broke apart, Ethan pulling back to rub his hands down Ivan's chest, gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging up. Ivan's arms lifted, and Ethan tossed his shirt to the floor. He made to kiss again, lunging forward, but Ivan caught him with a hand on his shoulder, and a moment later, Ethan's shirt joined his beside the couch.

Ivan's eyes dropped, his hands running a slow path down Ethan's torso, and Ethan could feel every inch of skin, every individual fingertip, Ivan looking at him like Ethan was a work of art, something extraordinary. He paused when he reached the waistband of Ethan's jeans and looked up. Ethan swallowed, nodded, watched Ivan's face as he undid Ethan's jeans and pushed them down, then slid a hand around him, gripping tight.

"Ah," Ethan said. He clenched his eyes shut, ran his lips along Ivan's shoulder, tasting the salt on his skin.

"Is this OK?" Ivan asked quietly, lips against Ethan's ear.

Ethan shuddered, nodded, raised his head to meet Ivan's mouth again. He only managed to get a quick taste, only the slightest brush of tongue and alcohol, before Ivan broke away, and suddenly Ethan was flat on his back on the couch, Ivan pulling his pants off and away.

When Ivan stood up and started to walk away, Ethan said, "Where—" but he dropped off when he saw Ivan's shaking hands open the drawer in the small table next to the couch, pulling out a little bottle.

"In the living room?" Ethan murmured, eyeing the bottle as Ivan shucked his own pants and then leaned down over the couch.

His eyes flicked toward the television and he flushed, staying quiet. Ethan just laughed and dragged him down again, bit into Ivan's bottom lip and groaned when Ivan carefully levered himself down, grinding slowly against Ethan. Ethan shifted, lifted a leg to drape over Ivan's back, toes curling suddenly when he felt a slick finger pressing against him, circling the opening without pushing in. Ethan dug his fingers into Ivan's shoulder, shut his eyes tight.

"Are you—is it—"

"Mmhmm," Ethan said, nodding frantically when Ivan finally started to press deeper. "Yeah, that's— _ngh_ —just keep going."

Ivan did as he was told, slowly stretching Ethan open, panting against Ethan's cheek. Ethan reached between them, gripped Ivan's cock and pulled up, making Ivan stutter, making his finger reach deeper and force a groan out of Ethan's mouth.

"S—sorry," he muttered, shuddering under Ethan's hand pulling on him.

"It's OK," Ethan said at once, head lolling back at the arm of the couch, Ivan pressing kisses against his jaw and neck, flexing his finger and making Ethan shake.

Ethan let himself go after that, let himself feel nothing but Ivan; around him, inside him, breathing hot little pants into his ear, pressing in another finger alongside the first and stretching Ethan open. Ethan made a small little noise, hand tightening for a brief second around Ivan, who said, " _Oh_ ," in response. Ethan smiled, sank back into feeling, hips moving, mind blank because he didn't want to think about anything else, not about Sacha and the overwhelming  _pull_  that Ethan felt for him…or the disappointment.

When Ivan wrapped a hand around Ethan's cock and curled the fingers of his other hand, that was it. Ethan came at once, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back. Ivan pressed soft little kisses down his throat, hands still all over him until Ethan had stopped shaking.

Ivan pulled away, looking down at Ethan, one slick hand wrapping around his own cock, his expression tight. Ethan sat up, uncoordinated and unsteady, knocking Ivan's hand out of the way and replacing it with his own instead. Ivan leaned forward, pulled Ethan up with a hand on his neck so they could kiss again.

A moment later, however, and Ethan heard the sound of a phone ringing. He turned away so quickly that Ivan's tongue slid across his cheek before he drew back. Ethan abandoned his grip on Ivan's cock to start searching the coffee table for his phone.

"Where is it?" he muttered, heartbeat picking up, wondering if it was finally the call that he had been waiting for.

Ivan didn't respond, just groaned and fell back to the couch. Ethan heard the telltale signs of him jerking himself off, but he was too busy looking for his phone to think much of it. It was only when his foot nudged something hard and he glanced down that he realized his phone had slid off the table and onto the floor. Ethan picked it up, but the screen was dark and he could still hear ringing.

He understood that it was Ivan's phone at the same time that he heard Ivan grunt, and then sigh, behind him. Ethan flushed, dropped his own mobile back to the floor, chest tight with disappointment and embarrassment. He startled when a hand landed on his shoulder, but when he turned to look at Ivan, he wasn't upset.

"Sorry," Ethan said. "Sorry, I got—distracted."

Ivan just shrugged, pulled Ethan up to lay against him, reclining back on the couch. "It's all right," he said. "It's all right. Just…come here." He cradled Ethan's head to his chest, fingers carding through Ethan's hair.

Ethan heard Ivan's breathing begin to slow, his eyes slipping closed. Eventually the lights turned off, both of them inactive enough the motion sensors didn't detect them. Ethan blinked slowly in the darkness, watching the moonlight from the window gleaming off the surface of his phone. It was quiet, unmoving, and the disappointed feeling in Ethan's gut stayed with him even as he fell asleep.

A moment later, and Ethan woke to the tinkling electronic sound of music. He groaned and unstuck his cheek from Ivan's chest. When he rolled over, Ethan realized that it was actually morning, and sunlight had flooded the apartment. He untangled his legs from Ivan's and clumsily sank onto the floor. This time it really was his phone ringing, and Ethan picked it up at once, stumbling to the bathroom as he did so.

"Hello?"

The first thing he heard was sniffling, and a little gasping breath. Ethan closed the bathroom door and sank onto the closed lid of the toilet, digging his toes into the fraying rug in front of the shower.

"Ethan," a shaky little voice said, barely audible.

Ethan frowned. "Simon?"

There was a little warble on the other end of the line, maybe an affirmation. "Can you…are you busy? I just…James and I…." He fell silent, but Ethan understood. Something about the two of them had seemed…off recently.

"Of course," Ethan said. "Where are you?"

"Your place, I used your spare key, I hope you don't mind," Simon said in a rush. "I just couldn't—couldn't be at my place. Are you—are you busy?"

"No," Ethan said, standing up. "Just stay there, I'll be there soon." He hung up and quietly exited the bathroom.

Ivan was still sleeping, arms and legs splayed across the couch. Ethan watched the steady rise and fall of Ivan's chest as he put his clothes back on, running a hand through his hair and over his face to try to wake himself up.

Once he had gathered all his things, Ethan hesitated. He didn't feel comfortable waking Ivan up, but leaving without saying goodbye felt just as wrong. Ethan picked up a heavy blanket from the corner of the room and draped it over Ivan's prone form. Then Ethan found a scrap of paper and a pen and wrote down his number. He paused, pen hovering over the paper, but he didn't know what else to write, so he just left it at that, showing himself out.

On his way down the street, Ethan checked his phone once more, just in case, but there were no new messages; no new explanation waiting for him. He slipped the mobile into his pocket with a sigh, swallowed past the tightness in his throat, and turned toward home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few things. 1. This chapter runs concurrently to the last, so basically this is what Sacha was doing while Ethan was with Ivan. 2. There's a good bit of Russian toward the end, so you might want to have a translator ready. 3. THIS IS SO LONG GOOD GOD.
> 
> All right, onward. <3
> 
> -Em

**Sacha**

The librarian all but shoved Sacha out the front doors at 6:30, locking them pointedly behind him and watching him walk out of sight.

"Bitch," he muttered, sending her a glare through the window as he headed for home. He had planned to study as long as he could, drop his bag by the apartment and then continue to the bar to meet Ethan, but he had failed to check the fucking  _schedule_  for the library beforehand.

He scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets, hunkering down against the chill breeze as he turned down the street to his apartment. When he got inside, Sacha dumped his bag on his bed and stripped off his coat. He went to the kitchen to grab a beer, glancing toward the couch, but it was empty. He noticed the closed door to Aleks' bedroom on his way back to his, considered just letting him sit there alone for the rest of the night, but they hadn't talked much since they had talked about Ethan, Aleks treading around Sacha like he trailed broken glass wherever he went.

So Sacha opened the door. The room was dark, lit mostly by the screen of Aleks' computer screen. The desk chair was empty, so was the bed. Sacha frowned, took a step forward, and that's when he saw the slim little foot, peeking up from behind the other side of the bed.

He rounded the mattress in two long strides, looked down at Aleks' crumpled body and haphazard limbs for one heart-stopping moment. He was on his side, one leg tucked beneath him, the other still hooked over the side of the bed, face pressed to the carpet. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so mind-numbingly terrifying. Sacha dropped to his knees, turning Aleks onto his back. There was a little puddle of vomit congealing on the floor, some of if still stuck to his cheek.

"Fuck," Sacha said, hands shaking, pushing his fingers at Aleks' neck, looking for a pulse. "Fuck, Aleks." He gripped Aleks' chin, shook him, but his eyes were closed, his face startlingly pale.

" _Aleks!_ " he yelled, went back to trying to find a pulse, thought maybe he could feel something weak and slow, but he was still shaking too hard to be sure.

He put a hand against Aleks' narrow chest, clawed his phone out of his pocket, dropping it to the ground a moment later. "Shit," he said, breathing shallow, heart trip-hammering against his ribs. He snatched up his phone, tapping in the numbers, eyes tracing over Aleks' sunken features.

"911, what's the exact location of your emergency?"

Sacha shouted his address, grabbing Aleks by the arm and dragging him back across the carpet, his foot falling to the floor with a dull thud.

"What's the nature of your emergency?" dispatch asked.

"I need an ambulance," Sacha said. "I need one right now, my friend's OD'd."

"OK, I'm sending one to your location. Sir, what has he taken?"

"I don't fucking know!" Sacha yelled. "Just get the fucking ambulance!"

"Sir, calm down," the operator said. "The ambulance is on its way, but I need—"

Sacha hung up, shoved the phone back into his pocket and hoisted Aleks up over his shoulder. Fuck, but he was light. Too light, a little ragdoll, limbs swinging lifelessly as Sacha rushed to the door. He tripped over the discarded beer bottle on the floor, didn't even remember dropping it in the first place.

He shouldered his way into the hall, stumbling in his panic, one of Aleks' arms swinging out and banging against the wall. Sacha opened the front door, fumbled it closed behind him and started for the stairs. Halfway down, he stumbled, Aleks tipping precariously on his shoulder.

Sacha took a breath, closed his eyes, adjusted his grip on Aleks and started down again. He had barely reached the street before he heard the distant wail of sirens. He sank down onto the sidewalk, unable to walk anymore, pulling Aleks forward across his knees. His eyes were still closed, lips parted.

"Aleks," Sacha said, fingers gripping hard into Aleks' side. He raised a hand, grabbed a fistful of Aleks' dark hair and just held on. "Aleks!"

People were around him before Sacha could wrap his mind around what was happening. Someone pulled Aleks out of his arms, a hand wrapping around his and squeezing, making him drop his old on Aleks' head.

Sacha came back to himself when he saw Aleks being strapped to a gurney, two EMTs starting to rush him away. "Hey!"

He stood up, ran onto the street after them, climbed into the back of the ambulance before either of them could stop him. The woman shot him a glance though, as though she were going to tell him to get out. Sacha just pressed closer to Aleks' side, wished he could melt the brains out of her head and said, "I'm not fucking leaving."

"Then stay out of the way," she said, and then she turned back to Aleks, both of them hovering over him and working. Sacha watched as they cut Aleks' shirt down the middle, exposing the pale contours of his chest, the hollowed stomach.

Christ, when had he gotten so fucking skinny? He'd always been slight, scrawny, but this was extreme. This was…. Fuck, how had Sacha never noticed?

"Is he going to be OK?" he asked.

The other two were talking to each other, passing things back and forth over Aleks' body, prodding and poking at him Neither of them paid any attention to Sacha, who said, "Is he going to be OK?" in a louder voice.

Still nothing. Sacha's hand on Aleks' leg tightened. " _Is he going to fucking live?_ "

"We're doing everything we can," the guy said, not looking at him, and Sacha didn't miss the fact that that was no fucking answer at all, but his throat was too tight to respond, too congested with everything he wanted to say, every curse he wanted to scream, every fucking insult he wanted to throw at Aleks for being this goddamn stupid.

So he just watched, and waited. When they got to the hospital, he trailed just behind the gurney as they rushed it inside, ignored the doctors and nurses who suddenly came to stand around Aleks, jostling Sacha around. When they reached a set of wide double doors, Sacha suddenly pressure on his chest, saw the gurney get rushed away while he was forced to stay behind, a nurse's hand pressed hard against his chest.

"Sir, I'm sorry, hospital personnel only after this point."

"But—"

"It's policy," she said, stepping in front of Sacha when he tried to dodge around her.

"He's my—he's my—just,  _fuck,_  let me back there goddamn it!" He lunged to the other side, but the nurse stepped in front of him again, put her forearm up to press a hard line against Sacha's chest.

"There's some paperwork we need you to fill out," she said, and Sacha couldn't even look at her, was too busy watching the door swing closed, the glimpses of Aleks he could see through the small windows.

He huffed out a breath, ran both hands through his hair, already beginning to back off. He wasn't getting back there; no way they would let him. He had done all he could do for Aleks, and now it was out of his hands. Even when he hadn't done shit.

"Come on," the nurse said, but she didn't move out of the way, just opened her arms to usher Sacha back.

He clenched his jaw, looked once more at the now-empty windows in the swinging double doors. Then he turned away. The nurse guided him toward the nurses' station, held out a thin black tablet and a silver stylus, blank form waiting to be completed on the glowing screen.

"Just fill out everything you can," the nurse said.

Sacha didn't take the tablet, just looked at it, couldn't force himself to move. The nurse leaned over the desk toward him, shaking the tablet in his direction.

Eventually, she sighed. "Look," she said, "this is what you can do to help right now."

Sacha finally looked up, finally looked at her, at the detached expression and slight quirk to one eyebrow. Sacha wasn't anything new to her; his situation wasn't new. He was cold and shaking and sweating and could hardly get his mind around what had just happened, but she was just staring, just waiting. Calm.

Sacha took the form, sank down in one of the small chairs of the waiting area, as far away from everyone else as possible.

He took a breath and picked up the stylus, setting it down carefully on the tablet and beginning to write. The first questions were easy; name, reason for visit. Even the other questions weren't too bad; Sacha flying through them, all the little tidbits he'd learned about Aleks over the years coming back to him, laid out in front of him like a neat little history of their lives together.

_Known allergies to any drugs or medication?_

Sacha couldn't stop the edges of his lips from twitching up, just barely smiling. He remembered one time in the colonies when he and Aleks had been thirteen and stupid, trying to impress the older boys at their school and make themselves stand out. There was an abandoned factory set in the middle of a barren field, not far from their school. Sacha couldn't remember a time when it had been functional, was sure it had never run in his lifetime. Nobody thought it was haunted; no one was stupid enough to believe in ghosts anymore, but people said that the desperate employees had moved in when the plant went out of business and they lost everything. People said that it was a home for the homeless; a place for the downtrodden and the abandoned. Sacha had always wondered how that was any fucking different from the colonies themselves.

He and Aleks had gone in on a dare, some dumb prank they'd been put up to, and Sacha had said yes with his big fucking mouth before Aleks had the chance to talk him out of it. So they had gone in the middle of the night, wind-chill cold enough to turn their balls to ice. The other guys had been there too, the older ones, watching to make sure they went through with it. So he and Aleks had walked in to the sound of their taunts, Aleks pale and skinny with a ripped jacket and shoes with holes that he had covered with spare bits of duct tape. He'd been shivering, eyes wide and lips pressed tight together, more scared than Sacha had ever seen him, but right by Sacha's side when he opened the door and went in.

When he was sure they were out of sight of the other guys, Sacha grabbed Aleks' hand and pulled him along. The factory was empty, nothing living inside except a few exceptionally large rats, or rat hybrids. Sacha had just begun to think they had gotten out of there scot-free when suddenly Aleks stopped, gasped, his hand squeezing tight around Sacha's.

"What?" Sacha had turned, looked back to see Aleks with his eyes clenched shut, biting his lip. "What?" Sacha said again, trying to tug him toward the exit.

Aleks stumbled, and then gasped again, a tear trickling out of the corner of his eye. "I—my foot."

Then all of a sudden, he was on the ground, hand slipping out of Sacha's.

"Shit—Aleks, what—" Sacha kneeled down, looked at Aleks' feet with the dull little flashlight they had brought with them. Didn't take long to see the problem. Sacha had gripped the head of the nail sticking out of Aleks' heel and pulled it out without a second thought, rush of blood pouring out of his shoe just after.

Aleks had whimpered, more tears leaking out. Then they had left, limping past the other boys, who jeered and catcalled at the way Aleks was wrapped around Sacha's side. Sacha resigned himself to the fact that he and Aleks would get shit for the rest of their lives, never going to live that down.

"You need a tetanus shot," Sacha had said later, once he had walked Aleks back to his house, getting him into bed.

Aleks shook his head, looking pale and sweaty, curling into a ball under the thin blankets. "I can't."

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Sacha said. "It's just a shot."

But Aleks only shook his head again, looking blankly toward the wall as he said, "Can't afford it," in a tiny little voice.

Sacha just let that sit, processing it slowly. "I'll lend you the cash."

Aleks' head turned on the pillow, giving Sacha a hard look. "Don't."

"I'm doing it," Sacha had snapped. He'd been saving up every meager thing he'd earned for a way out of the colonies, already considering all the possibilities, just waiting for the day when he finally had enough money to buy a ticket to Earth. He wasn't going to offer that to anyone more than once.

Maybe Aleks got that, maybe he knew—the way he seemed to always know things about Sacha, like he had a fucking manual for the way Sacha's brain worked—because all he'd said was, "Yeah. OK." And a few days later, they'd gone to the hospital. A few hours after that and they learned Aleks was allergic to the tetanus injection.

Sacha came back to himself, tablet face gone dark with disuse. He tapped it, read the question again and quickly jotted down,  _DTaP vaccine._

_Blood type?_

Sacha swallowed, knew this answer too. Eighteen when he had gone with Aleks in a fury to get an STD test, didn't have to pay for that one because Aleks was getting money on the side for whoring himself around.

"You fucking slut," Sacha had said, pacing around the doctor's office after the nurse left. "You fucking  _slut_."

Aleks had just sat there and taken it, staring off into space as if he didn't know Sacha was even there, just like he always did when Sacha started in on him.

"Why don't you get a real job, or do you just like falling down to your knees for every guy who looks at you?"

"There aren't any real jobs open," Aleks said calmly, which Sacha fucking  _knew_ , just as well as he knew that Aleks was aware Sacha was fucking around on the side for money, too.

He never said anything about it, though. Always kept his silence even when Sacha was the biggest fucking hypocrite on the planet, and they both knew it.

Sacha wrote,  _A+_ on the form and left it at that.

He gave the tablet back to the nurse when he was done, about to turn and walk away when she said, "Wait. Has anyone talked to you?"

"Nobody's told me shit," Sacha said.

The nurse hummed in understanding with no sign of offense at his tone. She glanced down at the things that he had filled out on the tablet and then took out another one.

"Well, I just need to ask some follow-ups," she said. "Does your friend have a history of this sort of behavior?"

"Yes," Sacha said because maybe Aleks had never tried to kill himself before, but he liked pain, he liked being a depressed little shit—carefully hiding his cuts, wearing long-sleeved shirts during the height of summer as though he thought he were safeguarding some secret Sacha didn't already know about.

"Do you have any idea what he took?"

"No," Sacha said. "No, I was—I was gone—"  _all day_ , he tried to say, but his throat had closed up again, too tight to squeeze the words out.

The nurse didn't look up as she nodded, quickly scribbling that down. Sacha watched her hand move across the tablet, his mind back on Aleks, on opening his door and finding him like that.

He had only planned on going back to the apartment to drop his shit for a quick moment before going out again. He had never even planned on seeing Aleks before he left. As it was, Sacha had been out for hours; all fucking day. He thought back to Aleks' foot peeking out from the mattress, his body crumpled and unnatural against the floor. Eyes closed, face pale.

If Sacha hadn't walked in, if he hadn't decided on a whim to push open Aleks' door and see him, he would still be there, heart slowing, skin cooling, forgotten on the floor.

It was hard enough for Sacha to think that Aleks had been like that for hours, that he had taken something and then gotten to his feet—maybe to phone help, maybe to call Sacha—and then fallen. Hard enough to imagine him lying there in his own puke until he finally passed out, the room slowly going black. Hard enough to picture him there on the floor, too weak to even right himself, everything fading out. Hard enough to know that he might have died. Alone.

"That's enough for now," the nurse said, and Sacha just barely recognized the new, softer tone to her voice before he turned away.

He returned to his chair in the corner, pressing the palms of his hands hard against his eyes until bright spots erupted behind his lids, until the pressure behind this eyes had decreased. He didn't know how long he waited, curled over his knees and staring at the floor, before someone said his name.

He jolted upright, dodging around an old woman who had come to sit in a seat close to his. He focused in on the woman in the white coat, had barely reached her when he said, "Is he OK?"

"He's fine," she said, ghost of a smile playing over her features. "We had to pump his stomach, and we've given him some fluids for rehydration, but he's fine."

"Can I—"

The doctor held a hand up and continued. "We're going to keep him here for a few days," she said, "and we've put him under surveillance."

"Under—" Sacha started to ask, then stopped. "Oh. Can I see him?"

She nodded. "Come with me."

She led him away from the waiting area and down a long hallway lined with doors. They passed another nurses' station, and then she was opening a door. "Visiting hours are over," she said, "but the nurses say you can stay for a few minutes."

Sacha gritted his teeth and entered. Aleks was there, surrounded by tubes and machines, looking like the little kid who had stepped on a nail all those years ago; small and pale, hovering on the brink of breaking, but never broken. Aleks could survive anything.

Sometimes Sacha wondered if Aleks just liked to test himself; liked to see how far he could go without crossing the line, how many cuts he could make and still keep going. Aleks loved doing the things that were worst for him.

Sacha dragged a chair next to the bed and sat down, resting his forearms on the mattress, running his fingers along the cool skin of Aleks' arm.

" _Вы так чертовски глупо_ ," he whispered, examining the dark shadows under Aleks' eyes, aware that the doctor had gone but a nurse had come to take her place, hovering beside the door. " _О чем вы думали?_ "

Aleks didn't stir, the heart-rate monitor beeping slowly and continuously, his face peaceful.

"I'm sorry," the nurse said quietly, stepping forward. "He needs his rest."

Sacha's hand tightened on Aleks' arm, fingers digging into flesh, feeling the crisscross of little white scars beneath his fingers. "He's not even fucking awake," Sacha snapped.

The nurse took a breath and gave Sacha an understanding look. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "Visiting hours start at 1500 tomorrow."

" _Я вернусь_ ," he muttered to Aleks, standing up.

He strode past the nurse, giving him a hard glare as he watched Sacha leave. Sacha opened the door of the stairwell and ducked inside, looking through the window as the nurse closed the door to Aleks' door and strode to the nurses' station.

Sacha watched him take a seat behind the desk, beginning to clack away at his computer; looked as though he was settling in for the night. Sacha sighed, leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Ivan's number, still staring at the nurse as the phone started ringing.

Sacha ground his jaw when Ivan didn't answer, his voicemail finally picking up. "Something's happened to Aleks," he said, "call me." He was about to hang up when he thought to mention, "We're at the hospital, but he's OK."

When the nurse got to his feet, Sacha disconnected the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket, his breath fogging up the glass of the window. He watched the nurse read a tablet, tapping every now and then with his finger as he walked toward the stairwell. Sacha ducked out of view as he walked by, waiting until his footsteps had continued on down the hallway.

Sacha opened the door a crack and peered out. The nurse was gone. He slipped down the hall, getting to Aleks' door in a few seconds and closing it quietly behind him. He closed the blinds to the large windows, blocking Aleks from view. Remembering that the doctor had said they were monitoring him, Sacha grabbed a chair and dragged it beneath the small security camera, turning it toward the door, so only Aleks' lower-half could be seen.

Sacha returned to Aleks' side, sitting up by his head so the camera wouldn't see him. He leaned forward and put his hands back on Aleks' arm, fingers ghosting over the blue veins. He let out a long breath, crossed his forearms against the mattress and leaned his head against them, closing his eyes. He didn't even know what time it was, all he knew was that it had been a long, long day, and he was fucking exhausted.

He had only meant to close his eyes for a second, but he jerked upright at the sound of a door closing. Sacha blinked in the bright morning light coming through the window and groaned as his back straightened. He rubbed his neck, frowning at the ground.

"You know, tampering with security cameras is a crime," someone said conversationally.

Sacha glanced up, watched as a new nurse pushed a needle full of clear liquid into the tube in Aleks' arm.

"Is it," he muttered, voice flat.

"Mmm," the nurse said, slanting Sacha a wry look. "We've moved it back though, so don't worry about that." She picked up the needle and discarded it in a small box on the other side of the room. "It's a good thing you make a cute couple," she added as she opened the door, glancing pointedly at the clock, which said 0847. "We wouldn't be so lenient, otherwise."

Sacha glared as the disappeared, door closing behind her with a click. He fell back in his chair, one hand still resting on top of the mattress. When Sacha felt cool fingers press against the back of his wrist, he looked around.

Aleks' eyes were open, blinking blearily at Sacha, fingers still drawing patterns across his hand.

"Aleks," he said. He stood up and leaned over him, running a hand through Aleks' hair.

" _Ты здесь_ ," he said, raspy and quiet, still blinking slowly, as though it were an effort to keep his eyes open.

" _Конечно_ ," Sacha said, eyes tracing over Aleks' face. He still looked small; sickly, but he was awake and talking. He was  _alive._ "Do you remember what happened?" He tried hard to keep the accusation out of his tone, was sure he hadn't done a good job of it.

Aleks sighed, his eyes slipping closed for a long moment before opening again. He turned his face away from Sacha and his touch. " _Я не хочу говорить об этом_."

" _Ну, это очень плохо, потому что мы собираемся поговорить об этом_!"

Aleks didn't respond, didn't look at him, but it didn't matter when the door suddenly opened again. Ivan burst in, followed by the same nurse from before.

"Visiting hours aren't until—" she was saying, but Ivan just ignored her.

"What the fuck happened?" he said, striding up to Aleks' other side and gripping his hand.

"He tried—" Sacha started to say, but the nurse held up her hands and cut him off.

"All right, out," she said. "Both of you, out. I was willing to make an exception, but your friend needs his rest."

"Listen," Sacha said, rounding on her, but when she looked coldly back toward the camera in the corner, he shut up. "Fuck, fine." He grabbed Ivan's arm and dragged him out into the hall.

He found a waiting area past the nurses' station and sat down by the window, Ivan sinking down beside him and putting his hands on his knees.

"What happened?" he asked again.

Sacha rubbed a hand hard against his face and walked Ivan through the events of the night before. When he was finished, Ivan fell back in his seat, staring straight ahead.

"Fuck," he said. "Do you think he was…you know…?"

"Trying to kill himself," Sacha supplied, stomach clenching. "Yeah."

They were both quiet for a few minutes, nothing much to say anymore, no words to make anything better. Eventually, Sacha glanced at Ivan and said, "Where were you last night?"

"I was at home," Ivan said, a little smile twisting his lips. He glanced at Sacha, cheeks flushing. "I met someone."

Sacha sighed. "So you were getting laid while I was going to the hospital. Fucking bullshit."

Ivan gave him a flat look. "Yeah, I'm sure your friend almost  _dying_  must have been a real inconvenience for you."

Sacha sobered up fast after that, tapping his foot, unsure what to do with himself. Ivan had his phone out and was turning it over and over in his hands.

"You like this person?" Sacha asked.

Ivan nodded, looking at the floor. "Yeah. Yeah, he's great."

"Oh  _he_ , is it?" Sacha said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah." Ivan smiled, gaze still fixed on the ground. "And it's real," he added, "not like with your  _project_ —what's his name, anyway?"

Sacha frowned. "My—oh, _fuck_."

"What, what is it?" Ivan asked, but Sacha had already leapt to his feet, digging out his phone and dialing Ethan's number. He walked away from the waiting room, heading toward the exit because he had a feeling he would need a cigarette for this conversation.

Sacha almost expected it to go to voicemail, but Ethan picked up on the last ring, as if he were trying to pretend that he wasn't sitting right next to the phone staring at it.

When he said, "Hello?" his voice was carefully detached.

Sacha reached the exit and dug around for a cigarette, lighting it quickly and leaning back against the cold wall of the hospital.

"Hey, baby," he said, tried to inject as much guilt into his tone as he could muster, but remorse had never been his strong point.

"What do you want?" Ethan asked, talking over another voice in the background.

"Is someone there with you?" Sacha said before he could stop himself, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

Ethan was quiet for a moment, then a harsh breath blew across the line. "What do you want?" he said again, but before Sacha could answer, he continued. "And I don't think you have any right to ask me anything when you made me wait at the bar for an—" He took a breath. "You made me wait there and you didn't even call."

Sacha took a hard pull on his cigarette, an image of Ethan sitting at that seedy bar, all blond hair and skinny frame, just waiting for him in a sea of Sacha's people; people who wouldn't understand Ethan at all.

"I know," Sacha said. "I know, baby. Something—something came up."

"What?" Ethan asked at once, tone like a challenge.

Sacha swallowed, avoided the gaze of a hospital worker who glanced at him on her way out. "My roommate got in some trouble," he said. "I had to take him to the hospital."

The silence after that was a protracted one. Sacha could practically hear Ethan's brain working, trying to decide if Sacha was lying or not.

Eventually, he said, "Aleks? Is he OK?"

"Yeah," Sacha said, frowning just a bit, pulling on his cigarette again before adding, "yeah, he's fine now."

"Good," Ethan said. "Um, that's good." The voice behind Ethan got quieter, and then Sacha heard a door close. Ethan said, "Look, Sacha…if you—if you don't want to do this—"

"It's not that," Sacha said, could so easily see Ethan standing there, chewing his lip, little line between his eyebrows as he frowned. "It was just…bad timing last night."

"Yeah," Ethan said. Then, "Look, I have to go."

Sacha paused, cigarette halfway to his mouth. "All right."

"Um, I'll—I guess I'll talk to you later."

"I'll call you," Sacha said.

Ethan cleared his throat, said, "OK," and hung up.

Sacha blew a long stream of smoke out of his mouth, watching it dissipate into the air as he said, "OK then," to the silence, unsure if he felt better or worse than before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ethan**

Ethan swallowed and pushed his phone back into his pocket, collecting himself for a moment with his hand on the doorknob of his bedroom door. He hoped Sacha wouldn't lie about something so serious to get out of meeting him, but Ethan couldn't be sure. He thought of Aleks; quiet and sweet, in his too-big shirt while he made coffee, bare feet moving quietly across the floor. If Sacha wasn't lying…

Simon looked up from the couch when Ethan entered the living room, cup of tea in his hands. "Who was it?"

"No one," Ethan said, sitting down beside him. "How are you feeling?"

Simon shrugged, elbows on his knees, shoulder hunched, looking at the dark amber liquid in his mug. "Fine."

Ethan frowned, examining the pieces of hair coming loose from Simon's braid, the dark circles under his eyes. "You don't look fine."

Simon glanced up and gave Ethan a little half-hearted smile. "No, I guess not."

"So what were you saying before I left?"

Simon raised the mug to his lips, didn't take a sip before he set it down on the coffee table. He folded his hands in his lap, taking in a little breath.

"James has been dropping hints for the past few weeks," he said, and then continued before Ethan could ask for details. "I just thought—I was ignoring them…I didn't think he meant anything by them, but last night we were talking, and he was saying how I had a lot of my things at his place, so I said yes, but only because I spend so much time there, and he…."

Ethan waited, eyebrows drawn in because he had a feeling he knew where this was going. He realized he wasn't wrong when Simon said, in a tiny voice, "He asked me to move in with him."

Ethan didn't say anything. Even though he had anticipated it, knew it was coming, he waited for more, certain that wasn't the end, but Simon stayed quiet.

"So…what'd you say?"

Suddenly, Simon got to his feet, one hand running down the length of his braid as he strode to the other side of the room. "I said no!"

Ethan blinked. "You…don't want to be with James anymore?"

"No!" Simon said, then he wheeled around to look at Ethan. "I mean, yes! I mean…I  _do_  want to be with him."

Ethan just stared, watching Simon cross his arms over his chest and pace back and forth across the room. "Then, why—"

"I  _can't_ ," Simon said, and suddenly he returned to the couch and dropped down right beside Ethan, eyes big. "I can't live with him."

"Why—"

"It wouldn't  _work_." He jumped up again, stepping back across the room. "I—we're too different,  _we_  wouldn't work."

"What are you talking about?" Ethan asked. "You're great together."

"We're great  _now_ ," Simon said. "We're great with things how they are. Why does he want to complicate everything?"

Ethan just looked at him.

Simon crumpled under his gaze; putting both hands in his hair and pulling more strands loose from his braid. "I know," he groaned. "I know, I know. I just…."

"You're scared."

Simon looked irritated at the suggestion. He opened his mouth, taking a step forward, then stopped. He didn't say anything. After a long moment, he returned to the couch beside Ethan, sitting stiffly as he undid his hair. At first he draped it all over his shoulder, as though he were going to rebraid it, but then he just sat and stared at the far wall, hands in his lap.

Ethan scooted closer, gathered Simon's soft hair in his hands and started to braid. Simon sighed, eyes slipping closed, leaning his head toward Ethan.

Ethan cleared his throat, tried to keep his voice quiet as he asked, "Did you break up, then?"

Simon's throat rolled, but his eyes stayed closed, one of his thumbs rubbing against the back of his opposite hand. "No," he said, "not really. I told him I needed some time to think about…everything."

Ethan nodded, hands working slowly in Simon's hair. He was clumsy, didn't have the same level of practice as Simon, and when he finally finished it was lopsided and chunky.

"It's not very good," he said.

Simon just shrugged, eyes opening again. "Ethan…." He took a breath, glancing at Ethan from the corner of his eye. "Do you think…would it be all right if I stayed with you for a while? Just a few days. My apartment…it just reminds me of him."

Ethan tucked a stray piece of hair back into Simon's braid and then patted his shoulder. "Of course."

Simon's shoulders sagged. He gave Ethan a grateful look. "Thank you. I—do you have to get that?"

Ethan blinked, suddenly realized that his phone was buzzing in his pocket, vibrating against Simon's leg where they were pressed together. Ethan dug it out, glanced down at an unfamiliar number. There was a name just above it though, and that Ethan did recognize: Ivan. He pressed ignore.

"No, it's fine."

"Someone really wants to talk to you."

"What?" Ethan asked, then he remembered his earlier call from Sacha. "Oh. No, it's fine, really."

"Are you sure?" Simon continued before Ethan had a chance to answer. "Oh my God, did you meet someone last night?"

"Well—"

"That's why you weren't here this morning," Simon said, turning on the couch to face him. "Ethan, I'm so sorry, I didn't even think, I've been so caught up in my own…." He breathed again. "So, what happened?"

Ethan checked the time on his phone and stood up. "I need to get ready for class," he said.

Simon frowned, but when Ethan walked toward the bathroom, he just picked up his mug of tea and began to sip again, not saying a word.

After a quick shower, Ethan gathered his things and ran out the door, shouting a hasty goodbye to Simon just before he left. He made his way to class, had just sat slumped into a seat in the steeped 200-person lecture hall, when his phone buzzed again. Ethan frowned, no idea who to expect this time, but he still felt a jolt of surprise when he saw a message from his father.

_Ethan, come to my office after your last class. I'd like to speak with you._

Ethan swallowed, could feel his heart pick up just a bit as he wondered what he'd done this time, what his father could want with him. He was still staring at his phone when his professor started speaking, and it took a hard kick to the back of his seat from the person behind him to get him to put it away again.

He went through the rest of his day in a haze, off-and-on thinking about Simon, Sacha, Ivan, and his father. He checked his phone constantly, waiting for further instructions front his father, or maybe another phone call, but no one contacted him. After his last class, Ethan headed to his father's office. Elsa glanced up when he entered, phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder. She smiled brightly and nodded when Ethan pointed to his father's door.

He moved past her, easing the door open and slipping inside. Two men were standing in front of his father's large wooden desk, and they both looked up when Ethan entered.

"Sorry," Ethan said, backing toward the door again. "Elsa said—"

"Close the door, son."

Ethan did as he was told, closing the door with a snap and looking between his father and the other blond-haired man in the room. His heart was still beating fast, couldn't help the natural reaction whenever he was around his father. And then there was the other man; austere and imposing with slicked-back hair and square-rimmed glasses.

"Ethan, I'd like you to meet Professor Cook," his father said. Ethan didn't immediately step forward, had to wait for the sharp glance from his father before he dropped his book bag by the door and gave his hand to Professor Cook.

"Nice to meet you," Ethan said, trying to match his firm grip, but he still had to flex his fingers to get feeling back when Professor Cook dropped his hand.

"Professor Cook is head of the business school," his father said, rounding the desk. He didn't sit down, just put both hands flat on the desk and fixed Ethan with his usual penetrating stare, blue eyes looking at him pointedly.

"Your father says you're interested in business."

Ethan blinked, glanced up to where Professor Cook was standing beside the desk. "I—"

"Of course, you know how kids are these days," his father smoothly cut in. "Ethan's still waffling on what he wants to do."

"I'm not—"

Professor Cook glanced at Ethan when he started speaking, but again his father cut across him, smile tight as he turned toward the other man. "Kids," he said again. He stuck out his hand, and Professor Cook seemed as surprised by the sudden dismissal as Ethan felt. "Good to see you, Professor."

They shook hands, then Professor Cook turned toward Ethan again. "Nice to meet you, Ethan." Ethan had his fingers squeezed once more in Professor Cook's hard grip. He winced as Professor Cook said, "And if you really are interested in business, I could always give you a tour around the school sometime. We have some very well-renowned professors."

Ethan flushed, forced himself to nod. He didn't look at his father until he heard the door close behind Professor Cook.

"I'm not interested in business."

His father sighed and then pursed his lips, sitting back in his chair. He gestured for Ethan to sit in one of the poorly-padded chairs across from him. Ethan hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not he should just leave at that moment, for he was certain now he wouldn't like what his father was going to say. In the end, though, when he pinned Ethan with a cold stare, and then glanced very obviously at the chair, Ethan sat.

"I'm writing an article," Ethan blurted out before his father could say anything. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms against the wood of the desk, elbow brushing against the gold nameplate.

"Oh?"

Ethan didn't miss the dismissive glance, the flat tone to his father's voice, but he plowed forward. "Yes. I'm writing an article about—about a boy from the colonies. Simon's hoping that maybe if people see that the school reaches out to the less fortunate, we can get more funding. I think—"

"Simon?"

Ethan deflated, licked his lips. "The editor," he said. "Dad, I've told you—"

"Listen, Ethan." His father leaned forward, set his elbows on the desk and interlaced his fingers. "I appreciate this…hobby of yours—"

"Dad, how many times do I have to—"

His father held up a hand, and Ethan didn't know what it was about that gesture along with the stern glare that accompanied it, but he broke off immediately. Just like always. "I appreciate this hobby of yours," his father said again, "but you and I both know that's exactly what it is: a hobby."

Ethan clenched his jaw, but he didn't try to interrupt again.

"I'm concerned for your future," he said. "Journalism is a nice idea, but you can't expect to make a difference with that, to change—"

Ethan couldn't keep silent at that, didn't look up as he interrupted so he wouldn't have to watch his father glare at him. "Dad, I just told you; I'm making a difference. I'm writing an article that will help get funding for the school—that's—that's a part of journalism."

"If you want to make money for the school," his father said, and Ethan glanced up just in time to watch his father's eyebrows draw in, mouth pulling down at the corners, "then go to business school. Then, when you become a success, you can come back and teach. Or maybe you could even be where I am."

The words were on the tip of Ethan's tongue:  _That's not what I want_. They were ready, waiting to spill out of his mouth, but he dropped his gaze to stare at the dark grain of the desk, unable to push them past his lips.

His father sighed, and when he spoke, Ethan noted the new, softer tone to his voice. "I just want you to be happy," he said. "I want you to be able to provide for yourself. I don't want to see you do something that you'll regret. I want—Ethan, where—"

For Ethan had stood up, unable to say the things he wanted to, but not willing to sit through another lecture about his life, about how he didn't know a damn thing. "I should go." He walked toward the door, picking up his bag on the way and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Ethan, come back here."

He heard a chair pushing against the hardwood floor; harsh scrape as his father stood up. He didn't return, though.

"Ethan, we're not—"

_Finished_ , Ethan thought. The door closed behind him.

He only made it as far as the first floor when he had to sit down. He loved his father, knew his father loved him, but Ethan could only take so much of his condescension at one time. He was shaking; pissed off at the continued reminder that his father thought he was a joke; wasting his life away. Ethan knew what he wanted. He tapped his foot, ran a hand through his hair.

He avoided the curious gaze of a passing girl as he suddenly dug around in his pocket, slipping out his phone and dialing.

On the fourth ring, Ethan considered hanging up. He had just taken the phone away from his ear when a voice on the other end said, "Hey, baby."

Ethan swallowed, raised the phone back to his face. "Don't call me that."

Sacha gave a little exhalation over the line. "All right,  _princess_ , whatever you want."

Ethan gritted his teeth, but stayed quiet, didn't have the patience to deal with any of Sacha's bullshit. "Wednesday, let's get dinner."

There was a pause, but when Sacha's reply came, Ethan thought he could hear a hint of amusement. "Whatever you say," he said. "Where?"

Ethan stood and shouldered his way through the front door, exiting onto the circular courtyard in the busy part of campus. "I'll text you." He hung up before Sacha could say anything else. He knew what he wanted. He did.

His father didn't try to call him. Ethan couldn't say he was surprised, couldn't say what he would have told him if they'd talked. When he got home, Simon was almost exactly where Ethan had left him. He was curled on the couch watching TV.

Ethan sat down next to him, noting the mugs strewn on the coffee table and the thick sweater Simon was wearing that Ethan recognized as his own.

"We have a paper going out tomorrow," Ethan said.

Simon blinked. "Georgia's taking care of it."

Ethan nodded, glanced at that sweater again. "Do you want me to go by your place and pick up some of your clothes?"

"I can do it." He stood up, swaying just a bit before he started walking.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

Simon paused halfway to the door, pale and barefoot, looking wafer thin in Ethan's oversized sweater. "No."

Ethan got to his feet and guided Simon back to the couch, pushing him down. "I'll make you something," he said, "and then later tonight I'll swing by your place and pick up some of your clothes."

He headed to the kitchen just as Simon said, "I'm not an  _invalid_."

Ethan pretended he hadn't heard.

Despite Simon's halfhearted protests, he still let Ethan make him some soup, let Ethan sit next to him on the couch and do work while Simon let his eyes glass over in front of the TV. Even later, once Ethan had stopped working and Simon was sinking deeper and deeper into the couch, he let Ethan pour out a tumbler of cheap scotch, didn't hesitate in knocking it back either. When Ethan left for Simon's, he was pouring himself another glass with a shaky hand.

Ethan hopped on a bus heading north, curled against the window, looking out at the darkening buildings and lightening streets as the streetlights turned on. He walked the few blocks to Simon's apartment and headed up the stairs. He had taken Simon's key with him when he left, clenched it in his hand as he exited the stairwell onto Simon's floor.

He had barely taken two steps when he slowed to a stop. "James?"

James looked up, head lifting away from the wall beside Simon's front door. He was sprawled out on the floor, listing badly to one side, legs reaching almost to the far side of the narrow hallway.

He squinted as Ethan came nearer. "Ethan?"

Ethan nodded, drew level with Simon's door at the same time that James eased himself to his feet. He stumbled almost as soon as he was upright, though, shouldering the wall hard enough that Ethan could see a dent when he pulled away.

"Are you all right?"

James snorted. "I'm fucking great," he said. "Just  _great_." He nodded toward the door. "You going in, then?"

"Simon's not here," Ethan informed him, not going into the apartment quite yet, giving James a long look. "Are you drunk?"

James shrugged, fell back against the wall again, creating another dent. "So what? Nobody here to see it."

"Except me," Ethan said, sticking the key in the lock and turning.

"Nobody that matters," James amended, slurring the last word so badly it was almost unintelligible.

Ethan still got it, though. He sighed as he opened the door and flicked on the light. He wasn't exactly sure whether he should let James in or not, but when James shoved in just after him, Ethan decided that he didn't have much of a choice. He made his way to Simon's bedroom, James trailing juts behind him.

When he pulled a small bag out of Simon's closet and began filling it with clothes, James snorted. He fell back against Simon's bed, watching Ethan move around the room with heavy-lidded eyes.

"He's staying with you, then."

Ethan made a noncommittal noise, but he knew it was obvious.

"So he doesn't even want to talk to me."

Ethan shrugged, keeping his face averted. "He's just trying to figure things out."

The bedsprings creaked as James shifted, then he said, "Figure out  _what_?"

"He just…." Ethan sighed, rummaging pushing handfuls of underwear into the bag.

"Just what?"

Ethan startled and dropped the back to the floor. He didn't know how James had managed to walk to him without making a sound, but he was suddenly just at Ethan's back, close and intimidating. Ethan turned, took a step back only to encounter the chest of drawers. James pressed in closer, boxing Ethan in with one arm on either side of him, gripping the jutting lip of the dresser.

"What are you doing?" Ethan asked.

James didn't say anything, shuffled just a little closer, ducking his head down.

"You're drunk," Ethan said.

"You're blond," James noted, eyes flicking to Ethan's hair before he settled on his lips. He might have been bigger and stronger than Ethan, but when he leaned down and brushed his lips to Ethan's, there was nothing aggressive about the move. However, that was as far as he got before he drew away again, putting a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

"Fuck." He sank onto the bed, cradling his head in his hands. "Fuck, Ethan—"

Ethan bent down to grab the big. "It's fine," he said.

James just groaned, slumping back on the pillows, eyes closed.

Ethan took a little breath, rubbed a hand against his lips and then stepped forward. "Do you want me to take you home?"

James opened his eyes, shot a quick look at Ethan before glancing away again. "I think I'll just stay here tonight," he said.

Ethan hesitated, then nodded. What Simon didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He turned away, closing the bedroom door just as James rolled over, curling himself around one of Simon's pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can all just pretend that the person who kicked the back of Ethan’s chair in lecture is AU EMG ok great. (My attempt to write him into everything).


	9. Chapter 9

**Sacha**

The hospital discharged Aleks a few days later. Sacha had managed to juggle going to classes and still swing by the hospital whenever he could, but he still got there late the afternoon Aleks was set to leave. He was waiting out front on a low bench when Sacha got there; arms wrapped around himself and hunched over his knees. He didn't look up until Sacha was right in front of him.

"Come on, then."

Aleks got to his feet, looking paler and thinner than ever, hair lank when it fell across his face. He followed Sacha to the bus stop without speaking, dragging his feet and staring at the ground. "You didn't have to come get me."

Sacha snorted, leaning against the metal pole that displayed the bus numbers and route times. "If I didn't, you probably would have tried to walk in front of a bus instead of catch one home."

Aleks raised his head enough to give Sacha a hard look. "How many times do I have to tell you, I wasn't trying—"

"Shut up," Sacha said, straightening up when the bus pulled up. "I don't want to hear any more of your bullshit."

Sacha got on the bus before Aleks could say anything else. He sought out two empty seats and stood beside them, waiting for Aleks to slide in beside the window before sitting down next to him; boxing him in. Sacha threw an arm across the back of Aleks' seat, glancing around the bus and sending a glare toward a guy in the front who was staring at him and Aleks. Sacha slid a hand onto Aleks' thigh, smirking when the guy's eyes bulged and he turned away again.

He glanced at Aleks when he felt him tense, saw the blush across his cheeks, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Sacha scowled and took his hand away again. "Oh, calm down."

Aleks turned to look at the window. A moment later, Sacha watched him place his own hand on his leg where Sacha's had just been. Sacha let out a breath and bounced his leg up and down, scowling toward the front of the bus.

When the bus stopped, Sacha stood and waited for Aleks to walk past him out the doors, following just after him off the bus. They walked together back toward the apartment, Sacha standing between Aleks and the street the whole time, gripping his wrist when they headed up the stairs of their apartment complex, watching Aleks carefully as they walked along the balcony to their front door.

Aleks shot him a little look, making it obvious that he knew what Sacha was doing, but Sacha didn't give a shit; opening up the door and letting Aleks in. He was a bit more relaxed in here; he had searched the whole place, hiding everything he found even remotely dangerous and shoving it into a bag in the back of his closet. If Aleks was going to try to kill himself again, he was going to have to get inventive about it.

Sacha waited until Aleks had fallen onto the couch, tipping his head back and sighing, before he dropped down next to him. He just looked at Aleks, felt himself growing angrier the longer Aleks kept his eyes closed. Eventually, he looked up, caught Sacha watching him.

"Что?"

Sacha rolled his eyes and got to his feet. "I've got shit to do."

Aleks didn't say anything as he walked away, just stayed quietly sitting on the couch. Sacha didn't hear anything from him for hours as he shut himself in his room and tried to get caught up on the work he had missed over the last few days.

It wasn't until later that night when Sacha left his room to get dinner and watch TV that he saw Aleks again. At some point, he must have gone back to his room, since he suddenly appeared from behind his closed door and walked to Sacha on the couch.

"Are we out of bleach?"

Sacha didn't glance away from the television. "No."

"Then where is it?"

Sacha frowned, turned to look at Aleks at that. He was freshly showered; hair damp and wearing an oversized shirt and drawstring pajama pants that Sacha was sure were his. "Why do you want to know?"

Aleks frowned, shooting Sacha a confused look as he said, "I want to clean the toilet. Where is it?"

"I'll do it later," Sacha said, turning back to the TV.

"I'll do it now. Where's the bleach?"

Sacha just shrugged. He thought that was the end of it, but all of a sudden Aleks was leaning forward, picking up the remote and switching off the television. "Hey—what the hell?"

"Sacha, I know what you're doing," Aleks said. "You can put everything back; the bleach, the knives—"

Sacha stood. "You were looking for a  _knife_?"

"To cut my bread," Aleks said, giving him a furious look.

"I'll do that later, too." Sacha started toward his room, but Aleks caught his arm.

"Sacha, put everything back."

"No." He pulled his arm out of Aleks' grip and kept walking. He got to his bedroom door a minute too late, looking down at Aleks who had pressed up against it, hand on the doorknob.

"When you go to class tomorrow, I'll find it all."

Sacha bent forward, smacked a hand against the door beside Aleks' head and leaned over him. "Why do you want it all back?" he asked. "Going to try it again?"

"Try  _what_? I didn't  _do_  anything."

"You tried to—" Sacha swallowed. "You tried to kill yourself."

Aleks' face softened, his body sagging back against the door. "No, I didn't, Sacha," he said, voice quiet. "I wanted to get high. I was just…stupid."

Sacha just looked at him, searched his face. He sneered. "You always were a fucking liar."

Just like that, Aleks' anger came back. Sacha saw it in the flush of his cheeks, the straightening of his spine.

"I'm not lying."

"Why the fuck should I believe that?"

Aleks just glared at him, pale eyes flicking between Sacha's. "Why would I kill myself?"

Sacha wanted to look away, but he forced himself to keep Aleks' gaze, forced himself not to let Aleks win this. He opened his mouth, waited for something to come out, but he had nothing to add, his fear and guilt eating him up because Aleks had tried to kill himself and Sacha could only think of one reason why he would.

But Aleks was shaking his head. His eyes were wide and fixed on Sacha's face, as though he knew what Sacha was thinking. "I swear…Sacha, I  _swear_  I don't want to kill myself. I never…." His throat rolled. "I wouldn't."

Sacha leaned away, took a step back and sank to the ground, back to the wall. After a slight hesitation, Aleks slid down next to him, their shoulders touching.

Sacha glanced down at his hands in his lap, ignoring Aleks' gaze on his face. "You remember that time those douchebags dared us to go into that abandoned factory?"

There was a short pause, then Aleks said, "Yeah. Of course. Why—"

"I was just thinking about it," Sacha said. "When you were in the hospital, I just kept remembering things…the colonies."

Aleks made a quiet little noise of affirmation. Then, he said, "Do you ever miss it?"

Sacha nodded before he'd given it a second thought. "Sometimes."

"What do you miss most?"

He glanced away, pursing his lips. For a long moment, Sacha didn't know what to say, didn't want to have this conversation at all, but then Aleks' cool fingers brushed against his arm, sliding against the thin skin at his wrist. Sacha frowned. "The people."

Aleks laughed at that; quiet and soft. He broke off when Sacha glanced at him, though, rubbing his lips with the tips of his fingers. "The people?"

"You have a fucking problem with that?"

"No!" Aleks said, fingers tightening on Sacha's arm; preemptively trying to keep him from leaving. "I just…the people here are so much nicer."

"Pushovers," Sacha muttered. "I  _get_  people from the colonies."

Aleks laughed again, this time not even trying to hide it. "That's because they think like you."

Sacha glanced at him, met Aleks' amused look. "Not all of them."

He turned away before Aleks' expression changed, but his hand was still on Sacha's arm; fingers just barely brushing the skin. He stood up, Aleks' touch slipping away. He held a hand out, though, pulling Aleks to his feet as easily as a ragdoll.

"You should eat more," Sacha commented. "The doctors said you were underweight."

Aleks smiled just a little. He reached a hand up, cool fingers curling against the back of Sacha's neck and pulling him down. Sacha let himself be led, let Aleks kiss him; soft press of lips against his before Sacha leaned back.

"I'm not going anywhere," Aleks said.

Sacha scowled and pulled away, went into his room and stared at into his closet. He grabbed the bag in back, trying not to wonder if he would regret this. Aleks was still there when he exited his room again, face blank, hand still hanging in the hair where it had been touching Sacha's neck.

Sacha dropped the bag at Aleks' feet, the knives clinking around inside. "I wasn't worried." He went back into his room, closing the door on Aleks' little smile.

For the rest of the night, everything was fine. Sacha listened to Aleks clean the toilet, then listened to him return to his room. Every hour or so, Sacha would hear something from the room next door; music, or a little cough, and Sacha had the feeling that Aleks was trying to reassure him, trying not to be too quiet and worry him.

When he went to bed that night, Sacha still wasn't sure how to feel about that. When he woke up at four in the morning, sweating and panting—quick flash of black hair and vomit on the bedroom floor seared into his mind—he thought that maybe he needed the reassurance. He lay there, trying to get his breath back, listening to the silence from the next room.

He pushed back the covers and put his feet on the floor before he'd thought better of it. He made his way through the darkness, pushing open his door and stepping into the hallway. He hesitated with his hand on Aleks' doorknob, but only for a moment before it turned beneath his palm.

The door swung open; still, pitch darkness inside. Sacha had half a mind to flick on the light, just to calm himself, but then he heard the sheets shift on Aleks' bed and a small breath in the silence.

Sacha licked his lips, cursed himself for being such an idiot, and closed the door. He returned to his room and sank into bed again, rubbing his eyes and hoping to fall back asleep. He was almost successful, his mind just about to drift off when he suddenly remembered something that had been nagging at the back of his mind for the past few days, but which he'd been too focused on Aleks to even remember.

He remembered now, though, eyes flying open, really thinking about his classes for the first time in days.

"Fuck," he said, jumping out of bed again, all tiredness forgotten. He turned on his computer, clicking through all his saved pages until he got to the one he was looking for; his day-to-day schedule for biology.

And there it was; that fucking midterm that he hadn't even thought about, let alone studied for…scheduled for that day.  _"Fuck."_  He settled into his desk chair, flipping on the light and pulling his book toward him.

He didn't shower before leaving for class; too busy trying to cram as much knowledge into his head as he possibly could. When he left the apartment, he still wasn't even remotely prepared. When he sat down in the lecture hall and took the test passed to him, he began to sweat.

As he left the room an hour later, Sacha decided that it could have been worse. Not by much, but at least he had remembered to write his name down. He didn't even make it out of the building before he felt a heavy weight pressing against his chest. He squeezed in the tiny bathroom on the bottom floor; the one that no one ever used, with no toilet paper in any of the stalls because even the custodians forgot it existed. He dropped his bag in a puddle of water from a leaky pipe and sat down on the toilet, putting his head in his hands.

"Fuck," he muttered. Then louder:  _"Fuck, fuck, fuck,"_  listening to his voice bounce off the tiled walls.

Sacha stood up, hands shaking. He kicked out at the door without a second thought, rattling it on its hinges. He did it again, just to get it out of his system, just to listen to it squeak; watch it quiver. The third kick broke through the shitty little lock, broke through one of the hinges holding it up and put it at an angle, just dangling above the floor.

He fell back to the toilet, all the fight leaving him at once, leaning back and staring at the moldy ceiling. He hadn't done well, he was positive of that much. Sacha could practically feel his scholarship slipping out of his hands; all of his hard work and his  _luck_  at getting out of the colonies and one test was going to be his fucking downfall.

Part of him wanted to blame Aleks for distracting him the past few days; for making sure that Sacha couldn't focus on anything except  _him_  for longer than a few minutes at a time. But a small, niggling thought at the back of Sacha's mind forced him to reevaluate because he knew it wasn't Aleks' fault. There was only one person to blame, and it wasn't Aleks, and Sacha fucking hatedthat.

He swallowed, curled over his knees again and clenched two hands in his hair. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the fear, the panic that it would soon be over for him; that he would be shipped back to the colonies to work in the mines or have to enlist and be shipped into space to die. To be gunned down for the sake of everyone on Earth who wouldn't give two fucks about him if they took one look at him.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, Sacha was tempted to smash the fucking thing; throw it away and never think about it again; wallow in his own stupidity. But then he was taking it out, expecting Aleks or Ivan, but seeing Ethan instead.

_Giano's at seven. Don't be late._

Sacha gritted his teeth, clenched his hand tight around the phone, but he didn't do anything else. He slipped it back into pocket without damage, rubbing his palms against his knees.

He took a few deep breaths, then he picked up his bag, eased through the rickety stall door and went home. He took a shower and a nap when he got back, only pausing long enough in the hallway to listen for more noises inside Aleks' room.

When he woke up a few hours later, feeling groggy and disoriented, he got dressed, then left. He slammed the door loud enough to let Aleks know that he was gone, then headed to Giano's.

He was still late. It was only a few minutes, but when he was led over to the table where Ethan was sitting, he was clearly sulking; arms tight over his chest and his lips pursed together.

Sacha clenched his teeth; keeping what he hoped was a neutral expression as he sat down. "Sorry I'm late," he forced out.

Ethan just shrugged, said, "You can pay to make it up to me."

Sacha hadn't even begun to get over the surprise that Ethan had apparently grown balls in the past few days before the little shit turned to the waiter and ordered himself a glass of wine.

Sacha bounced his leg beneath the table, his wallet burning a hole in his pocket as he wondered just how the fuck he was supposed to pay for all this. He made a mental note to call the manager at the Laundromat near his apartment who was sometimes willing to toss him a shift or two, just as a way to make some extra cash.

When the waiter asked for his drink order, Sacha glanced at the wine menu Ethan held out to him, then said, "Water."

Ethan's flushed, but then the waiter was gone, and he was turning to look at Sacha, and Sacha suddenly realized that he was on a date…with a guy. He couldn't remember the last time he had been a date with anyone; wasn't sure if anything he'd done with any of the girls he'd been out with could qualify as a 'date' anyway.

He just stared at the tablecloth for a long moment, trying to think of something to do, or say. In the end, Ethan took it out of his hands, leaning toward Sacha across the table and saying, "So how's Aleks?"

Sacha thought that Ethan was probably testing him, wanting to be sure that he hadn't just made the whole thing up. "He's fine now," he said, the hand resting on his thigh clenching into a fist.

"That's good," Ethan said, and Sacha couldn't read his expression, didn't know whether Ethan believed him or not, wondered why it mattered so much to him that he did.

"I was going to show up," he said.

Ethan shrugged again, leaning back in his chair, skin catching the light of the dimmed lights of the restaurant; making him look golden rather than white. "I had a good time without you."

Sacha was about to ask him just what the fuck  _that_  was supposed to mean when the waiter came by with Ethan's drink, waiting for him to swirl it around in his glass and take a sip before filling it up the rest of the way. Sacha watched the whole scene with a little smirk, picked something cheap off the menu when the waiter asked for his order, then waited for him to walk away before looking at Ethan again.

"You know a lot about wine?"

Ethan glanced down at the glass in his hand, expression guarded when he looked up again. Sacha figured he hadn't been as good at keeping the mocking tone out of his voice as he'd thought. "My dad's taught me a bit."

Sacha straightened at the mention of Ethan's father, jumping on the opportunity to learn more about the man whose ass he had to kiss. "What's he like?"

Ethan frowned, looked down again. "I don't want to talk about him."

Sacha's stomach dropped. He covered his disappointment by saying, "Fine. What do you want to talk about then?"

School, apparently. Ethan could talk about it for fucking hours. Sacha was content to listen, making the occasional comment while he tried to mimic Ethan's tidy eating habits and failed spectacularly.

When his wine glass was empty, Ethan finally stopped talking. He was smiling, his plate of food hardly touched because he hadn't shut up long enough to eat. He didn't seem to care, though, only pushed it aside and leaned over the table again, stomach pressed tight to the edge. Sacha looked at the full plate of food that he was paying for, pissed off that Ethan didn't even have the decency to finish it. If he didn't fucking take it home at the very least….

"We still need to finish that article," Ethan said. "I want to know more about the colonies." He hesitated, caught his lip between his teeth for a brief moment, then added, "And you."

He glanced up at Sacha from beneath his lashes; all flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes and Sacha caught himself off-guard by thinking that Ethan was so fucking pretty in the moment before the waiter came back with the check.

He took it with a scowl, felt his stomach growl in anticipation of food he wouldn't be eating in the coming week as he emptied the contents of his wallet on one fucking dinner.

Ethan was watching him closely when he looked up, but he quickly glanced away, grabbing his coat and standing up. Sacha followed suit, and together they left the restaurant, the plate of food left behind. Ethan turned toward him as soon as they were outside, smiling shyly and tilting his head back, obviously about to say good night.

"I'll walk you back," Sacha said.

Ethan blinked, obviously surprised, but then he smiled again and nodded, showing Sacha the way. He was quiet heading back; had evidently exhausted himself at dinner. Sacha searched for something to say, some topic to discuss, but he'd always been shit at small talk; always managed to fuck it up or offend somebody. He just let the silence lengthen instead, was relieved when Ethan eventually stopped at the front door of a narrow apartment complex.

He glanced toward the lit entryway, and Sacha followed his gaze. One glance and he could tell he couldn't afford to sleep in their lobby if they started renting it out. He looked toward Ethan again.

"This was nice," Ethan said, then cleared his throat. "Um, and thanks, you know, for paying. I didn't—you didn't really have to."

Sacha didn't mention that Ethan hadn't exactly given him a way out of that. Instead, he just nodded and stepped forward.

Ethan's eyes widened. Sacha watched his pupils dilate in the light streaming out from the glowing lobby. "W—we should do it again sometime," Ethan squeaked.

Sacha nodded again, eyes flicking down to the pink curve of Ethan's lower lip. He lifted a hand and cupped it around Ethan's cheek; surprised by how normal it felt, surprised by how he liked the way Ethan's lips parted just a bit in response.

He lowered his head without thinking about it, lips seeking out the jut of his lower lip, getting just the barest taste of wine and Ethan's dinner, before Ethan pulled back, hand over his mouth, eyes huge. Sacha just stared at him, could feel his anger rising because this kid was fucking insane; panting after him for so long and then pretending like he didn't want it.

He was about to turn away, to just throw in the towel because Ethan obviously wasn't going to do a fucking  _thing_  for him, but then Ethan was all over him, shoving Sacha back against the building and forcing their mouths together.

Ethan's tongue was pushing past his lips before he could even fully appreciate what was happening. Sacha came back to himself just as Ethan began running his hands over his chest and arms, hips rocking into Sacha's, moaning into his mouth. Sacha settled his hands on Ethan's waist for the time being, tilting his head to the side and returning just as much as Ethan was giving him.

Ethan made a high-pitched little noise, threading a hand through Sacha's hair and keeping him still, mouth working hungrily at his. Sacha lowered his hands, gripped Ethan's ass and pulled him up tighter before he thought twice about it.

Ethan pulled away again, but only for a second, only long enough to rock hard against Sacha's thigh for a brief moment, letting Sacha feel how hard he was already, just from that. Then he grabbed Sacha's wrist and headed for the front door of his complex, said, "Come on," as he got the door open and dragged Sacha upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm not much to say except thanks for reading! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh things might be a little awkward the next few chapters; had to rearrange some things in the outline because I sort of really wanted to write this scene from Sacha’s POV rather than Ethan’s like I’d planned OOPS.

**Sacha**

Halfway up the stairs and Sacha lost his footing, slipping and reaching out to grab at the railing when Ethan suddenly halted and fell against him again, panting against his mouth, fingers running through Sacha's hair, dropping down to flick against his earing. Sacha gasped and jerked back, Ethan's mouth falling to the front of his neck and forcing another pant out in a huff.

"Fuck," he wheezed, hands gripping at Ethan again. "You've got a sweet ass," he said without thinking about it, fingers clutching tight, and Ethan made a little  _snrk_ ing noise against Sacha's throat, flushed and pleased when he leaned back to look him in the eye.

He gripped Sacha's wrists and pushed his hands away, eyelids fluttering when Sacha dragged his fingers hard over the backs and sides of Ethan's thighs. Ethan kept his hands clenched tight around Sacha's, looking down at their linked fingers, blond hair shifting against his forehead.

"Weren't we going somewhere?" Sacha asked. He cleared his throat, thought for a second about pulling his hands out of Ethan's before deciding it wasn't necessary.

Ethan lifted his head, eyes round and startlingly dark in his pale face, the flickering fluorescent light above turning his skin ashen. "Yeah." He smiled, small and shy, just for a second, before yanking Sacha away from the wall and up the stairs again.

They paused again outside Ethan's door, Sacha not really sure who had facilitated it this time, only knew that Ethan hadn't managed to get the front door open before he was plastered up against it, Sacha pressing hard into him. One of Ethan's hands was still fumbling with the doorknob, trying to unlock it, the other was wrapped around Sacha, shoving up the back of his shirt and dragging dull nails down Sacha's back.

Sacha grunted, slanting his mouth over Ethan's again, one hand working with the button on Ethan's pants, shoving his hand down the front as soon as he was able, getting a handful of Ethan's cock through thin cotton fabric.

Ethan broke away at that, turning his face to the side and gasping, giving Sacha a mouthful of the smooth skin of his neck. He took advantage, biting down and rolling his tongue against warm flesh, reveling in Ethan's little whimpering moan, the way he shoved his hips hard against the palm of Sacha's hand, his grip on the doorknob slipping.

Then the world tilted. The door opened and Ethan started to fall, gasping and stumbling backward, holding tight to Sacha and pulling him into the apartment.

"Good one," Sacha muttered, flexing the hand inside Ethan's pants and making him shudder, long and fully-bodied; shaking against Sacha's front.

Ethan sucked in a breath, making no move to disentangle himself from Sacha as he said, "It wasn't—I didn't—"

Then a voice off to his left penetrated through the darkness, and Sacha jumped away from Ethan, yanking his hand out of his pants and scraping his knuckles along the zipper of Ethan's jeans in the process.

"I'm…sorry," the voice said, and a form suddenly bloomed out of the darkness, stepping into the light coming in through the open door. "I thought you forgot you key." The stranger glanced between the two of them, light eyes settling on Sacha. He was thinner even than Ethan, with blond hair in a long braid draped over one shoulder. His features were delicate, but the look he pinned on Sacha was sharp and penetrating.

Sacha glared right back, but then Ethan grabbed his hand and began to drag him away, saying, "Everything's fine, Simon," over his shoulder.

He led Sacha through a short hallway, pausing to shoulder open a battered, wooden door, then closing it as soon as Sacha was inside. A light flicked on, and Sacha got a glimpse of Ethan's bedroom; big and plain, nothing on his walls except for two posters; one of a motorcycle and the other of a band Sacha had never heard of. There was a small pile of clothes on the floor by the dresser, and Ethan's dumb fake glasses were on the nightstand beside the bed.

That was all Sacha saw, however, since when he glanced back at Ethan, he had stripped off his jacket and shoes and was pulling his shirt over his head. When he reemerged from the tangle of fabric, his eyes were bright, hair mussed, cheeks flushed.

Sacha watched Ethan step toward him, Ethan's tongue flicking out to wet his lips, pupils blown so wide that even when he came to a halt just in front of him, Sacha couldn't discern any sign of brown iris. Then Ethan's eyes dropped, head tilting forward when he glanced down. Sacha's attention was drawn to that blond hair and the little curve to Ethan's nose, his eyelashes fanning out across the tops of his reddened cheeks.

Then Ethan's fingers were pulling at the hem of Sacha's shirt, slipping underneath to touch the skin of his stomach, and Sacha had never been one for foreplay, didn't see the point in not getting right down to it, but Ethan was shaky and flushed, and when he glanced up at Sacha again, the look wasn't as eager as it was nervous. Sacha dropped his hands, pulled his own shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. Ethan twitched, making an abortive move to reach for Sacha before stopping himself, eyes raking hard over his skin.

Sacha snickered, ignored the wide-eyed look Ethan shot him at the sound, obviously worried he'd done something wrong. He gripped one of Ethan's hands and led it upward, settling it against his chest. Ethan's other hand was there in an instant, his lower lip caught between his teeth as soon as Sacha had given him the permission he wanted. He skated both palms up for an instant, ghosting across Sacha's collarbones, thumbs dipping into the hollow at the base of his throat.

Sacha watched Ethan step forward again, hot breath wafting against Sacha's chest, tongue darting out to taste the skin between his pectorals. Sacha startled, not expecting it, expecting it even less when Ethan's hands kept their downward direction, pushing hard at his stomach, snagging at the waistband of his jeans and then suddenly pushing hard at the front, knuckles of one hand rubbing hard over his cock through the denim.

He threaded a hand in Ethan's hair, groaned when Ethan sank his teeth into the hard muscle of his chest, sucking at the skin, and Sacha was just coherent enough to wonder if Ethan was  _marking him_  before one of Ethan's hands wiggled its way past Sacha's clothing to grip him hard, skin-on-skin. Then Sacha was pulling on Ethan's hair, jerking his head back, neck arched and tense, enjoying Ethan's little moan in the moment before Sacha's mouth silenced him.

Then they were on the bed somehow, Sacha with no knowledge of how it'd happened, couldn't quite bring himself to care with Ethan on top of him, pushing him into the mattress and rocking against him; all hot, tight skin and even hotter breath, his hair brushing against Sacha's forehead, their noses bumping together.

Sacha ran his hands down Ethan's back, dipping beneath the back of his jeans to grip his ass and pull him up tight, could feel the hard line of Ethan's cock sliding against his even through all the denim, making Sacha grunt, hard little knot of pleasure in his stomach growing bigger. Ethan gasped and broke away, pressing his cheek to Sacha's and panting in Sacha's ear, letting Sacha hear each minute whimper, every tiny moan when he gripped Ethan's ass and pulled him up hard, rolling their hips tighter together.

Sacha was disoriented when Ethan pulled away an immeasurable amount of time later, rising up to sit back on Sacha's lap, still squirming, ass pressing down on Sacha's cock, all the fabric and denim between them uncomfortably hot and tight and chafing but still too fucking  _good_  to be bad. Sacha could see a little trail of purpling marks along the side of Ethan's throat and across his shoulder, scattering down his chest.

Two sweaty palms lay against Sacha's stomach, Ethan steadying himself as kept his hips rocking. Sacha gritted his teeth, surged up and grabbed his waist, sliding his hands down, thumbs sweeping against the plane of Ethan's stomach. Ethan gasped but kept swaying slowly, breath coming in little huffs.

"So," he whispered, licking his lips, "so, how—what do you want?" His voice was little more than another exhalation, and it took Sacha a minute to recall why he was being so quiet, suddenly remembered his friend in the living room.

"Is that your roommate?" Sacha asked, pressing his thumbs into the hollows of Ethan's hips, sweeping below the waistband of his pants.

"N—no," Ethan stuttered, eyelids fluttering, hips jerking forward. "Just a friend."

"Mmm," Sacha murmured, leaning up. He nipped at Ethan's earlobe with his teeth, felt Ethan's hands against his stomach curl into fists before relaxing again. "Close friends?"

He knew he'd said the wrong thing at once, Ethan rearing back and giving him a hard look, still flushed and horny, but suddenly looking at Sacha deeper, as though he remembered what kind of person he was—remembered  _who_  he was. "What do you mean?"

Sacha hesitated, then swept a hand down again, getting a handful of cock and fabric and nudging against it. "Nothing, never mind," he said. Then, when Ethan looked as though he were about to protest again, Sacha added, "and take off your pants."

Ethan blinked, didn't move for a long moment, and Sacha wondered if maybe he'd finally done just one stupid thing too many. But then Ethan let out a shaky breath and sat up, pressure at Sacha's groin decreasing. Sacha put his hands back on Ethan's hips, helping him push out of his pants, looking down the length of Ethan's spine when he bent forward and that sweet ass came into view, his pants falling away.

Sacha put a hand out, ran it up the back of Ethan's thigh and reveled in the sound of Ethan's breath catching in his throat, his body stilling as Sacha rubbed his palm across the smooth skin. Sacha watched Ethan's face as he let his fingers stray, just barely dipping between and fluttering at the little patch of puckered skin, rubbing hard across his hole once before pulling back again.

Ethan shuddered, suddenly pushed Sacha back to the bed and began working at his jeans, pulling them off and away. Sacha only just had time to scrub his legs together and work them all the way off before Ethan fell full-length against him, and Sacha wasn't even sure which parts of Ethan his hands clenched down on when their cocks suddenly slid together.

" _Oh,"_  Ethan said, voice muffled against Sacha's throat, and then again, louder,  _"Oh!"_  when one of Sacha's hands slid behind him again, skating down the steps of his spine and then lower, pressing two fingers hard between him.

Ethan gasped, and Sacha was almost certain that even with all the heat and sweat between them, he could feel Ethan flush harder. He was still lying across Sacha's chest, head pressed to his neck, laying halfhearted kisses against Sacha's collarbone in the seconds when he wasn't trying to push Sacha's hips through the mattress.

Sacha wasn't complaining though, definitely not complaining with Ethan's cock pressed tight to his and rubbing hard, still wasn't complaining when suddenly there was a hand added to the mix, Ethan taking himself in hand in time with the steady rocking of his hips. Sacha took over, though, used his free hand to grip Ethan's cock and bear down, sharp sting of teeth against his throat when Ethan gasped letting him know he was doing it right.

Sacha felt Ethan's breathing pick up, grasped him a little tighter in one hand, pressed one finger of the other just past the ring of muscles, barely breaching him. Sacha felt Ethan's mouth open, kept jerking him off as he slid his other hand up to grip his hair, pulling his head back so Sacha could watch the expressions play across his face when he came.

He watched Ethan close his eyes and grit his teeth, head trying to cringe toward his shoulder, unable to with Sacha's hand holding him firmly in place. He made a little noise, just a final, quiet moan as he came across Sacha's hand and stomach. He opened his eyes as he came down, blinking slowly, a pained little line appearing between his eyebrows when Sacha handled him for too long.

Ethan pushed his hand away, carded his own fingers through Sacha's hair as he reached between them again.

"Might take a while," Sacha said, just to say it, knowing full-well that it wouldn't take long at all, knowing full-well that Ethan knew it too when his long fingers closed around him and pulled up experimentally.

Ethan smiled, not so shy anymore, more knowing than Sacha was expecting or strictly comfortable with, but then Ethan was jerking him off in earnest, lowering his lips to smatter light, closed-mouth kisses along Sacha's jaw, and he stopped caring about anything else.

It didn't take a while, didn't take anywhere  _close_  to awhile with Ethan draped across him, hand moving strong and steady, alternating between short little pulls and long, slow strokes. When Sacha came with a curse and Ethan's hand still dragging through his hair, he closed his eyes, let the mess on his belly cool as Ethan let him go and shifted to the side.

They didn't speak, Sacha unsure what to say, unsure what to fucking  _think_  with how badly he had wanted Ethan and nothing he could blame it on except himself. When Ethan sat up and climbed out of the bed, Sacha watched him go, throwing his legs over the side and taking that as his cue to leave. Then the light turned off and Ethan returned, said, "What are you doing?"

So Sacha pulled his legs back into the bed, let Ethan tug the covers over them and then curl toward the wall, blond head and one pale shoulder peeking out from above the sheets. Sacha reached out without thinking, covered the faint patch of skin with his own dark hand then moved forward, sliding an arm around Ethan's waist and pressing up against his back. Ethan stiffened for a moment and then sighed, didn't relax back against Sacha so much as just let him be there.

Sacha took what was offered, curled his arm across Ethan's chest, thumb stroking absently at his collarbone. He waited until Ethan's breathing evened, then he removed his arm. He rolled away, gave the bed a little jolt and watched as Ethan's body rolled with the movement, but he didn't wake. Sacha climbed out of bed, searching blindly in the darkness for his clothes, the faint light from the moon filtering through the mostly-closed blinds the only thing lighting his search.

He dressed in silence, watching Ethan's unmoving figure, examining the exaggerated indention of his waist as he lay on his side, his skin and hair glowing. Once Sacha was sure he'd gathered all his things, he moved forward. He sat back on the edge of the bed and reached a hand out, fingers hovering above the sharp jut of Ethan's shoulder, and that pale, pale skin. Then he drew back, pulled the covers over Ethan's exposed arm and stood up.

The floor creaked as he walked away, but the bedroom door was quiet on his hinges when Sacha closed it behind him. The apartment was dark, but he didn't think it was that late—not yet. The front door opened without a sound, illuminating the entryway and most of the living room. Sacha exited, could see a form sleeping on the couch just before he closed the door, but he didn't know if Ethan's friend was awake, couldn't bring himself to care either way.

He lit a cigarette once he hit the street, scrubbing a hand through his hair and trying to rid himself of the lingering feeling of Ethan's fingers, his lips. He made his lazy way back home, no real hurry to it, didn't want to face Aleks if he could avoid it.

A few streets down and Sacha stopped into a gas station, strode right up to the counter and asked for a key to the bathroom. The attendant gave him a hard look, probably trying to suss out if Sacha was going to go in there to shoot up, but in the end either Sacha didn't look enough like a junkie or the attendant decided he didn't give a shit.

Sacha wended his way to the back of the store, locking the bathroom door behind him and dropping the key to the floor. He bent over the sink at once, turning it on cold and then splashing his face. He reached for a handful of paper towels and stuck those under the stream as well, then he lifted his shirt and began to wipe away the remains of his evening.

He was dripping onto the tile floor; the paper towels, his face, everything. He threw the sloppy mess in the bin and then returned to the sink. There was a grimy, warped mirror above the tap, almost useless with how distorted it made everything. There was a part though, in the bottom left-hand corner, where Sacha's reflection was almost entirely accurate. He put a hand over that spot and leaned down again, used his quickly-numbing free hand to splash himself again.

The cold was a shock, painfully different from the sweat and stench and  _heat_  of Ethan's room, and Sacha reveled in its harshness, its  _reality_. Cold was home; cold was the colonies and thin blankets and snow. Cold was Aleks and waning fires and drafty houses.

Ethan was all heat; all warm skin and pale, bleached hair, all welcoming personality and burning enthusiasm.

Sacha pushed back from the sink, water still running steadily. He fell onto the toilet and ran a shaky hand over his damp face. He pulled another cigarette out and lit it up, breathing deep, waiting for it to ease the ache of unease settling in his stomach, waiting for it to calm his nerves.

By the time Sacha left the men's room a few minutes later, returned the key to the suspicious employee and made his way back home, he was still waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue? Huh? What's that?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK 5EVER FJLDSAK;;

**Ethan**

Ethan roused slowly, still comfortably warm and wrapped up in his blankets, sunshine coming in through the open blinds and striping the walls with gold light. He sighed and rolled over, mouth turning down at the feeling of sheets against his bare skin. In the span of an instant, Ethan remembered the day before. He sat up, looking around at the empty room and the open space beside him on the bed. He put a hand out, touching the cool, rumpled sheet.

For a long moment, Ethan didn't do anything else. It wasn't until he heard a pot clatter and a cupboard door bang shut from the kitchen that he blinked, coming back to himself. He climbed out of bed and slowly pulled on some clothes, padding out into the living room. His heart sank just a bit at seeing the empty couch, realizing that it was Simon in the kitchen. But, of course, it was Simon—who else would it have been?

He was at the stove when Ethan entered, his long braid neat and hanging down his back while he cooked. He looked fresh; newly minted; all showered and peppy. He seemed perfectly normal, as though he hadn't been living at Ethan's house, sleeping on his couch drinking all his liquor for the past week.

"Morning," he said, glancing up and smiling as Ethan pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down. "I made pancakes!"

"You didn't have to—" Ethan started, but Simon had already set a plate down in front of him with a little thud, a mug of maple syrup next to the table.

"It's the least I could do," Simon said as he sat down across from Ethan with his own plate. "For letting me stay with you."

Ethan glanced up, examining Simon's clean clothes and shiny hair. "You look better."

Simon looked at him and grinned, tight lipped against his full mouth. Simon swallowed and winced, took a big gulp of coffee and then reemerged, smiling. "I  _feel_  better," he said. "I  _am_  better. I'm going back to my apartment today."

"You don't have to," Ethan said, thinking of the small apartment, no one to share it with but Wolfe, who at that moment just barely peeked his head around the wall into the kitchen before retreating back behind the couch again with a little  _meow_.

Simon gave him a sly look. "You need your space," he said. At Ethan's flush, he continued. "How was your night?"

Ethan shrugged, began eating his own breakfast to avoid looking Simon in the eye. "Fine," he said, blushed hotter and amended, "Good."

Simon stayed silent for a long moment, no sound except the traffic outside and the clink of knives and forks against plates. Eventually, Simon said, "So…was that him?"

Glancing up, fork suspended halfway to his mouth and dripping syrup onto his plate, Ethan said, "Huh? Who?"

"The guy," Simon said, pushing his plate out of the way so he could lean forward over the table, folding his arms across the top. "The guy you were with a few days ago."

"Oh," Ethan said, pushed his own plate away and folded his hands in his lap. "No."

A pause, then Simon said, "Then who—"

"Sacha," Ethan blurted out, not looking up. "Uh, that was Sacha—who was here with me yesterday, I mean."

For a moment, Ethan really didn't think Simon was going to respond, but then a chair scraped hard across the linoleum of the kitchen floor, Simon's palms falling flat against the table as he leaned over it and said,  _"What?"_

Ethan winced, glanced up, relieved to see that Simon only looked surprised, not angry. "I—I know—"

"Have you finished the article?" Simon asked at once, braid dangling away from his chest as he leaned forward, eyes wide.

"No," Ethan said, wincing again when Simon groaned and then sat down, all but collapsing into the chair.

"Ethan…."

"It's fine," Ethan said at once. "It is. I mean, Simon, it's just an article—"

"Ethan," Simon said, and suddenly his eyes were open, giving Ethan a hard look. He sat forward again. "This is important, this is about getting funding. The school is  _bleeding_. I know you don't want to hear that; I know your father hasn't told you that, but it's true. This article could help stem the flow, could ensure that some professors keep their jobs, that students keep their scholarships, it's—"

"OK, OK," Ethan said, holding a hand up. "I know, Simon, but this doesn't have anything to do with that. Just because Sacha is the one I'm interviewing, it doesn't mean—"

"Your credibility could be put into question," Simon said at once. "Donors will start to wonder if anything you write is true—if the school really  _is_ as welcoming and diverse, or if you just interviewed Sacha because he's your boyfriend."

Silence. From the next room, Ethan could hear Wolfe scratching at the back of the couch. He sighed, met Simon's eyes. "So, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to break it off with him? Or better yet, why don't  _you_ just write the article instead, since you have such a good grasp on what you want, and I can't do it right. Besides, isn't the biggest conflict of interest here the fact that my father is the  _Dean_?"

Simon almost looked surprised, then suddenly his face broke, little smile flitting across his lips. "I'm not going to write it," he said. "You've already done a lot of the heavy lifting at this point, anyway." He glanced away, smile disappearing that quick, then looked back at Ethan. "I'd have the same problem anyway…with James."

Ethan sighed. "So, what do you want me to do?"

Simon rubbed a hand over his face, not quite so chipper anymore, eyebrows furrowed. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing, I'm sure I'm just overreacting. Like you said, it's only an article."

Ethan caught sight of his half-empty plate, thought for a moment about picking up his fork before deciding against it, his stomach already clenching into a hard little ball at Simon's words. "It's nothing serious, anyway. He didn't even stay through the night."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Did you expect him to?"

"I—" Ethan paused, thinking. "I don't know."

Simon made a little noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "There's your problem. People need to know what to expect of each other."

"What to expect of each other?" Ethan repeated. "We've barely just started…whatever this is."

"All the more reason," Simon said, leaning forward again, previous conversation seemingly forgotten as he got the chance to play relationship guru.

Ethan slumped back in his chair, startled when Wolfe suddenly jumped into his lap, appearing out of nowhere and nudging at Ethan's hand with his nose. Ethan scratched him behind the ears, looking back at Simon. "I…just like him. Why does it have to be more complicated than that?"

Simon practically  _tsk_ ed at him, tongue tapping off his teeth for a bare instant. "You need to have rules," he said. "You—both of you—need to know what you're getting into."

Ethan's mouth moved before his brain could catch up, words leaving before he could pull them back again. "Is that what happened with you and James? You didn't know what you were getting into?"

Simon looked surprised, but not offended. "Maybe," he said, fingers starting to drum against the tabletop. "I thought we were on the same page, that we were just seeing how things were going, letting things run their course." He hesitated, eyes gazing off somewhere to the left. "Then, I don't know, he switched books on me."

Ethan dropped his gaze back to Wolfe, stroking through the striped, gray and white fur, unsure what to say.

In the end, it didn't matter, Simon standing and beginning to collect their dishes. "Anyway, I'll be out of your hair once I've finished washing all this," he said. "My bag is packed and everything."

Ethan focused his gaze on the floor, frowning slightly as Simon bustled around him. "You really don't have to." He didn't notice when the clattering of dishes stopped, didn't look up until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Simon smiled, hand squeezing once before he turned back to the sink. "Yeah, I do," he said, and that was all.

He was gone in the next twenty minutes. Ethan saw him out the door and then looked back at the couch; the fluffed pillows and folded blanket. Nicer even than it was just Ethan here alone; Simon leaving his mark even when all he'd done was try to erase it. Ethan sat down on the couch for a long moment, not doing much of anything. Then he glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed, getting to his feet. He walked to the bathroom to get ready for class.

#

The day dragged. Ethan headed straight to the Office of Minority Affairs after class, sitting down behind the desk, discretely working on his homework in the lull periods. Every time the door opened, he glanced up too fast, wondering if it would be Sacha, knowing it wouldn't be. At the end of his shift, Ethan packed up his things and left, had barely made it out of the building when he ran headlong into a short body.

"Oh!" Ethan said, reaching out automatically to steady the other person. "I'm sorry, I—" He paused, blinking. "Aleks?"

Aleks' eyes widened, lips parting. "Ethan," he said. "Um, hi."

Ethan could already feel himself flushing, embarrassed to find that he had no idea how to act around Aleks. Not after the club, and then seeing him again at Sacha's, then hearing about his stay in the hospital. Ethan forced a smile. "How are you feeling?"

Aleks gave him a look, confused.

"I—uh, heard that you were in the hospital for a bit."

Aleks' eyes darted to the side, his face hardening just a bit. "I'm fine," he said. Then added, "Thank you."

Ethan nodded, said, "Well, I should—"

At the same moment, Aleks said, "I was actually—"

They both broke off. Ethan smiled nervously and started to edge away from the doorway. "I'll, um, let you go."

"Actually," Aleks said, reaching toward Ethan's arm before Ethan turned away. His hand hovered between them for a moment before dropping back to his side. "I—I was coming to see you. Can we go somewhere?"

Ethan blinked, glanced around when a girl suddenly appeared and tried to edge past him into the building. "Sorry," Ethan muttered, continuing down the steps and out of the way, Aleks at his side. "Go somewhere?" Ethan asked him quietly once they'd reached the pavement. His face burned. "Like…a date?"

Aleks' eyes widened, and Ethan immediately felt stupid for asking when Aleks said, "No! No, I just…." He took a breath. "It's about Sacha…I think we should talk."

Ethan frowned, watched as Aleks crossed his arms tight over his chest and looked away. He looked thinner than before; gaunt, though Ethan wasn't sure if he was only imagining it with Aleks hunched forward, arms around himself. "Is he all right?"

Aleks glanced up, straightening just a bit as he shot a hard look at Ethan. "It's nothing like that," he said. "Can we go somewhere?"

"Yeah…sure." Ethan hoisted his bag a little farther up on his shoulder and started making his way toward the quad. "There's a coffee shop in the engineering building," he said. "If—"

"That's fine," Aleks said at once, nodding. "That's good."

Silence descended on the walk over. Ethan couldn't stop himself from glancing at Aleks every now and then, quiet as a shadow beside him, pallid and small. He kept his arms wrapped around himself as they walked, eyes fixed straight ahead.

"It's in here," Ethan said when they reached the building. He made to reach for Aleks' sleeve and then thought better of it, gesturing toward the building instead.

The coffee shop glowed dully; lights low and the whole place almost empty, only a few stragglers still left behind, poring over books or hidden behind computers. Ethan walked up to the register to order himself something warm and caffeinated, had a feeling he'd need it with how anxious Aleks looked, how he immediately went to find a table without getting anything, as though he were ready to get started.

Ethan sat down across from him once he'd gotten his drink, wedging into the corner of the café, back to the wall. "So, um, what did you want to talk about?" Ethan asked.

Aleks kept his hands under the table, shoulders hunched. He fixed his eyes on the wall beside them, examining the artwork, blinking slowly. When he finally turned back to look at Ethan, he almost seemed surprised; as though he'd forgotten that Ethan was even there. "Sacha," he said.

"Yeah," said Ethan. "Um, what about him?" When Aleks just continued to look at him, Ethan took a sip of his drink—too fast, burning his tongue—just to have something to do with his hands.

Aleks' eyes dropped to the table, arms rising from beneath it to rub fingers over the smooth, polished surface. "Do you like him?"

His voice was so quiet Ethan could almost pretend he hadn't heard the question at all. He responded involuntarily, too surprised to act as though he hadn't heard it: his hand jumped against his cup, rattling it against the table and slopping hot coffee all across his fingers and onto the tabletop.

"Shit," he muttered, yanking a few napkins out of the metal dispenser and dabbing at the spilled liquid. Ethan's hand suddenly met Aleks' on the polished wood, both of them trying to clean up Ethan's mess. Ethan yanked his hand away, big wet streak of coffee left behind in his wake.

"You know he's from the colonies right?" Aleks said.

Ethan glanced up, frowning, soggy mess of napkins clutched in his fist. "Yeah," he said, didn't know why Aleks was even asking, how Ethan couldn't  _possibly_ know that Sacha was from the colonies.

Aleks swallowed, folding his hands beneath the table again; out of sight. "It's different there," he said.

Ethan put the napkins back on the table, picked up his mug and then set it down again without taking a drink. "I know," he said. "Or—well, Sacha told me a little bit about it…what it's like."

Aleks looked up quickly, face blank, but Ethan thought he could sense surprise, as though that wasn't what Aleks had been expecting to hear. "Right," he said, gaze dropping again, brow furrowing. "Did he tell you about the people? About the things that are expected of you?"

"No," Ethan said, leaning forward, "what do you mean?"

Aleks sighed, glanced around suddenly as though he remembered they were out in the open. There were only a few other people in the shop at that point, though, none of them paying Aleks and Ethan any attention. "The people…." He trailed off, shifting in his seat. "The people are hard."

"In what way?" Ethan wished he had his recorder, wished he had thought to interview Aleks instead of Sacha, since he was here, apparently ready to give Ethan all the information he could want without any excess prodding.

"Tough," Aleks added, voice low. "You look out for yourself," he said. "You're expected to because if you don't, no one will." He took a breath. "People in the colonies…they don't expect handouts, and they don't get them."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ethan asked, didn't know what else to say. "What does this have to do with Sacha?"

"Sacha is looking out for himself," Aleks said, finally looking up to meet Ethan's eyes. "Sacha will always look out for himself."

Ethan didn't speak for a long moment. He picked up his cup again and drank, thinking. Aleks was still watching him when Ethan emerged from behind the white ceramic. "That's not true," he finally said. "He looks after you—he told me he was with you at the hospital."

Aleks flushed, licked his lips. "That's not the point—that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Ethan asked, leaning forward again, wished Aleks would just come out with it.

"Everything he does, he does for himself," Aleks said.

"So, what—"

"He won't try to hurt you on purpose," Aleks said, words coming quick, as though once he'd started talking he didn't want to stop. "It's not—it's not that he  _wants_  to, he's just making sure he gets what he wants—he's looking after himself. He doesn't know any other way…it's not  _personal_."

"What're you—what do you—" Ethan broke off at the sound of a ringing cellphone. Aleks jumped at the same time, as though he'd broken out of a trance. He started to push back his chair and get to his feet as Ethan pulled his phone out of his pocket. "It's just my dad," Ethan said.

Aleks paled at that, eyes widening. "I should go," he said, already halfway gone, on his feet and starting to back away.

"No, wait—" Ethan started to stand as well, to follow after him and bring him back, but Aleks was too quick for him, slipping out of the door and disappearing into the hallway beyond by the time Ethan got his feet under him.

He fell back into his chair with a huff, ignoring the curious glance of the barista behind the counter. Ethan answered his phone without thinking about it, hadn't talked to his father since he'd walked out of his office last week, too rattled to ignore him.

"Hello?"

A pause, then his father's voice came across the line, steady and composed. "Ethan," he said. "You answered."

"Um, yeah," Ethan said, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he began to gather his things. "What's up?"

"I'm on my way out of the office," he said. "Are you still on campus?"

Ethan was about to lie, about to say that he was already back home and therefore too far away to meet his father anywhere.

Then he said, "I can drive you back to your apartment." Ethan hesitated, halfway out the door of the coffee shop. He didn't live that far away, the bus only took a few minutes, but the arrival times at each stop were spotty and irregular on a good day; he could be kept waiting for an hour if he risked it.

"I'm still here," Ethan said. "I'll meet you by the faculty parking lot." He hung up before his father had a chance to answer, taking any victory he could.

He half-hoped that he'd see Aleks on his way to meet his father, and he kept an eye out as he crossed campus, but Aleks had disappeared. By the time Ethan met his father by his sleek, black car, he was still turning over everything Aleks had told him, but he had been so  _cryptic_  about everything, Ethan didn't know whether he should just try to forget the whole encounter had even happened.

He got into his father's car without a word, settling into the passenger seat and pulling his bag up against his chest, turning his face toward the window. His father settled in beside him, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main street that bordered the west side of campus.

"I wanted to talk to you," his father said after a tense moment had stretched between them.

Ethan closed his eyes, was certain he had done enough "talking" that day to last a lifetime. If the conversation with his father went as well as the one with Aleks, Ethan considered just getting out of the car now and walking home. He opened his eyes, keeping his eyes turned toward the buildings that sped by. "About what?"

His father cleared his throat. From the corner of his eye, Ethan saw his fingers tighten and release on the steering wheel. "I just want to be sure you have all your work squared away for when we're away. You've talked to your professors, correct?"

Ethan blinked. Talked to his professors? He turned to frown at his father. "What?"

He glanced away from the road just long enough to shoot Ethan a sharp look, pale eyebrows furrowing. "Our trip," he said. "South, to the coast. Ethan, I know we've talked about this."

"Yeah," Ethan said, some vague conversation from months ago coming back to him. His father was doing something down south—a conference or lecture or something, and his mother had decided to make a family vacation out of it. "When is that?"

"The week after next."

"Oh. Right." Ethan pulled his bag a little tighter against his chest.

His father cleared his throat again, and when he spoke next, his voice was hard. "That's not going to be a problem, is it? Your mother's already bought the tickets."

Ethan didn't even think about it when he spoke next, the words slipping out before he could think twice. "I'll need an extra."

The car stopped, and Ethan realized that they'd pulled up in front of his apartment complex. He put a hand on the door.

His father reached out and grabbed him before he could exit, jerking Ethan back until their eyes met. "An extra ticket? Why? For whom?"

"Just—I need one, all right?" Ethan made to get out of the car again, but his father kept him in place, square fingers gripping Ethan's sleeve.

"Is this…" He trailed off, free hand still gripping the steering wheel and clenching down hard, knuckles whitening. "Is this for…a boyfriend?"

Ethan's face flamed. He jerked his arm out of his father's grasp and threw open the car door, practically jumping out onto the sidewalk. "Thanks for the ride," Ethan muttered, "and the other ticket." He closed the car door and rushed up to his building before his father could get in another word. He listened for the sound of the car driving away, but when Ethan glanced through the glass of the front door, one foot on the main staircase, the black car was still there; idling, as though it were just waiting for Ethan to return. He kept going, ascending the staircase until the street and the car were out of sight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huurrrr in an early chapter (REALLY EARLY, like two, I think?) some of the information Sacha gives about the colonies isn't consistent with Mars because lolz I didn't realize the colonies were on Mars. So that information has been fixed (it's not very interesting or altering at all, so there's no need to go back and look at it if you don't care to), and ties more into this chapter. SO, YES, MARS, THE RED PLANET, THAT'S WHAT WE'RE TALKING ABOUT. Harr, sorry for any confusion! <3

**Sacha**

Ethan called Friday and reminded Sacha that they still needed to finish the article. Sacha groaned and slumped in his desk chair, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. He had almost forgotten that fucking thing even existed, that that's what had started their whole  _relationship_  in the first place.

"So when do you want to finish it?" Sacha asked, thinking of the pile of work he still had to do; always had to do, the midterm on his desk with a 55 written at the top in red pen. Sacha would have to work his ass off to compensate for that grade, be practically fucking perfect until the semester ended.

"Tomorrow?" Ethan asked. "We could work on it in the morning, and then…maybe get lunch?"

He sounded tentative, voice trailing off toward the end of the sentence, as if he were waiting for Sacha to turn him down. Sacha couldn't blame him— _didn't_ blame him, not since he had walked out of Ethan's apartment in the middle of the night with no explanation. Ethan hadn't even asked about it; got right down to business discussing the article as though nothing had happened between them at all, only at the end asking for more. Asking for a  _date_.

"Will I have to pay for that meal, too?" Sacha asked, still bitter about it, flat, sad-looking wallet sitting on top of his dresser and glaring at him.

Ethan's voice took a while to penetrate across the line. Finally, Sacha heard him say, "No. Um, no, it's—it'll be on me."

Sacha perked up at that, thinking about how deep Ethan's pockets must be; how much Sacha would be able to eat and even bring back with him without even putting a dent in Ethan's wallet. "All right," he said. "I'm in."

He could hear Ethan smile as he said, "Great—I'll see you tomorrow then," and Sacha hung up. Ethan was still smiling when Sacha met him the next day, settling into their usual classroom in the art building.

He fidgeted in his seat, awkward under Sacha's gaze, cheeks pink and eyes downcast. He just barely glanced in Sacha's direction as he pulled the little recorder out of his bag. He gave Sacha a fleeting smile and then looked away again.

Sacha didn't quite know what to make of it; almost wanted to laugh with how shy and awkward Ethan was now that they'd gotten each other off; as though now that Sacha had seen him naked he couldn't look him in the eye anymore. "You all right?" Sacha asked, just to watch Ethan jump and squirm.

He didn't disappoint; jerking in his seat and twisting around to look at Sacha, smile overly bright. "Yeah! How are you? Um, how have you been?"

Sacha grinned, licked his lips and scooted his desk closer to Ethan's. Ethan flushed darker, refocusing on the recorder on the desk, avoiding Sacha's gaze.

"Are you angry I didn't stay?"

"I didn't ask you to," Ethan said at once, not really an answer. He straightened in his seat, cleared his throat, face cool and professional when he turned back to Sacha. "Should we start?"

Sacha raised an eyebrow, fell back in his chair, wondered how deep Ethan was going to pry this time. He didn't have long to wait, the first question out of Ethan's mouth making him sigh and question why he was even going through with this at all.

"Why'd you want to come to Earth?"

"Because the colonies suck," Sacha said. Ethan already knew this, had already asked him about this before.

Ethan blinked quickly, looking surprised. "Bu a lot of people stay there," Ethan said. " _Most_  people. What made you want to come to Earth—to study here?"

Sacha fucking hated this, sure that he had never wanted anything more in his life than to get out of that room right then. How was he supposed to explain everything that had led up to him leaving, to him deciding he  _needed_ to leave? Aleks had decided it first, decided that he was going to get out, but Aleks had always been the smarter of the two of them; both in school and out.

Sacha did it the wrong way. He worked at school, got better when he figured out that he didn't want his future to be the mines and government housing, but he started too late; figured it out too late. Then there were the other things, the dirty things, the wrong things, the things that people looked down on even when everyone did them at some point, for  _something_.

How was he supposed to say any of that? How was he supposed to tell Ethan and the whole school and who knew how many others that he only got to Earth because he was so fucking  _terrified_  of staying that he did anything and everything he could to get the fuck out? How would the Dean feel when he learned that Sacha had fucked and sucked and begged and stolen—spent years on his fucking knees for one thing or another—just so he didn't go the same way as his parents, and their parents, his friends and friends of friends; dead too young, skin too pale and bodies hunched and broken.

Aleks might have been the smarter of them, but Sacha wasn't a fucking idiot. He didn't give a shit about Mars, or about staying there. He didn't give a shit about pride or loyalty, or martyring himself for anyone. Maybe he'd cared about family, but once his dad died, mom quick to follow, Sacha didn't have any reason to give a shit about that either. So he'd fucking left, did anything he could to leave because there wasn't one fucking reason for him stay anymore.

"Sacha?"

He blinked, realized that Ethan was just looking at him, expression apprehensive, waiting for Sacha to say something.

"I had more reason to leave," he said.

Ethan frowned, tilted his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I  _mean_ ," Sacha said, "that the only thing waiting for me on Mars was a grave marker." A grave _marker_ —not even a tombstone because minerals weren't any use to the dead.

Ethan didn't say anything for a long minute. Sacha didn't look at him, kept his gaze focused out the window; on a squirrel running up a tree because he had a feeling the only thing he would see on Ethan's face was pity. Then he felt a hand on his arm; Ethan rubbing his fingers over the inside of his wrist, slow and soft.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Sacha gritted his teeth, moved his arm away. "Don't be," he muttered. "I left."

"Doesn't mean I can't be sorry for asking about it," Ethan said, and his fingers followed Sacha's arm, rubbing again. He sighed when Sacha didn't say anything else, but he kept his hand where it was. "Is there anything you  _will_ tell me?"

Sacha tapped his fingers against the desk, listened to a door somewhere down the hall close with a bang. "I came here for a chance at a decent future," he muttered. "One that you can't get in the colonies."

Ethan retracted his hand, picked up his pen instead; back in professional mode as The Interviewer.

"Why not?"

"Not enough jobs," he said, then amended: "Not enough jobs that anybody wants. Not enough food, not enough cheap housing." The colonies were one big lesson in how to survive on not enough of anything.

"What was your home life like?" Ethan asked.

Sacha made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. "Hard," he said, jiggled his leg under the table and debated saying anything more. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to, didn't know what else to say anyway.

"So why'd you choose this school?" Ethan asked, with the air of someone trying to smooth over a sticky moment.

Sacha laughed, could hear the flatness in his own voice. "I got a scholarship."

Ethan jumped on the admission, not skipping a beat. "And if you hadn't gotten one?"

If he hadn't gotten one… Sacha didn't even want to think about it; couldn't imagine the shit he'd be in; the shit he'd be  _doing_. The life he'd have if he were still on Mars would only barely pass for a life at all.

Ethan didn't say anything, seemed to understand. He turned off the recorder. "I think that's enough."

They got lunch at a food truck nearby, Sacha feeling like a kept boy when Ethan paid for him, but still so broke that he didn't have a choice otherwise. They walked around campus while they ate, Ethan going on about the different buildings and their history, obviously some worthless facts drilled into him by his father. Sacha didn't really care, but it was easier than trying to keep a conversation; easier just to let Ethan blabber, eyes bright and excited.

And sometimes Sacha found that he did care, that what Ethan had to say was somewhat interesting. Sometimes, Sacha would glance at Ethan while he was running his mouth, and he would get distracted by his little smile, or by the way he'd catch Sacha's eye and flush…sometimes Sacha would get the urge to reach over and bring them together, just to shut him up, to do something more interesting.

Sacha could only handle it for a little while, found himself drawing closer to Ethan with each step, until they were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. Then he hesitated, cut Ethan off in the middle of a sentence to say, "I should go. I have work to do."

Ethan's face fell, mouth parting in a little 'o' before the smile returned. "Sure!" he said. "Yeah, of course, I understand."

Sacha left, lit a cigarette on his way back home, wondering why he hadn't done it sooner with how much he needed it, how much it soothed him. He put the butt out beneath his shoe before he entered the apartment, stepping over Aleks' legs and dropping down next to him on the couch, tossing his keys on the coffee table where they skittered across the surface and dropped out of sight on the other side. Sacha groaned.

"That took a while," Aleks commented quietly, turning the television on mute.

"Leave it on," Sacha muttered; so done with talking, didn't want to indulge Aleks on whatever fishing expedition he was going on.

Aleks just looked at him, waiting.

"We got lunch," Sacha said. "Is that a fucking crime now? At least I got a free meal out of it—what have you done all day?"

Aleks sighed, leaned his elbows against his knees and put his head in his hands. "Sacha…"

"Yeah, fucking great," Sacha said. "Another guilt-trip, that's exactly what I need right now."

"Maybe if you didn't do so much to deserve it…" Aleks murmured.

"Are you—" Sacha broke off, couldn't even believe it. He turned toward Aleks on the couch and pinned him with a glare. "Are you fucking  _kidding me_? After all the  _shit_ you've put me through, and you're going to lecture me— _again_?"

"This isn't about me," Aleks said, not meeting Sacha's eye; a fucking coward even when he wanted to chew Sacha out.

"Like fuck it isn't," Sacha said. "Why don't you get the fuck over it already—get over  _me_."

Aleks' head jerked up, eyes wide as if they both hadn't been fucking thinking that. Or maybe he just hadn't expected Sacha to say it out loud. He swallowed. "What you're doing is  _wrong_. Ivan and I both think—"

"How about you and Ivan don't fucking talk about me behind my back," Sacha snapped. He got to his feet, kicking Aleks' legs off the coffee table and striding past him. Didn't get far, though, Aleks gripping his wrist and dragging on it.

"Break it off with him," he said. "Stop this."

"Go fuck yourself." He pulled away, didn't take much at all to break Aleks' grip.

Then Aleks said, "I told him, Sacha."

Sacha hesitated for a bare moment. Then he whirled around, grabbed Aleks by the front of his shirt and hauled him forward, putting them nose to nose, Aleks' toes slipping against the floor as he tried to keep his balance.

Sacha thought back, but Ethan hadn't seemed any different than normal, just as simpering and blabby as ever, just as  _sweet_. He didn't know anything—he couldn't. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Aleks breathed fast, eyes wide. His fingers scrabbled at Sacha's wrists, trying to get him to let go. For a fleeting moment, Sacha felt uneasy, worried that Aleks might break again—that Sacha would push him to the edge—but only for a moment because Aleks deserved whatever the fuck Sacha did to him for being such a nosy bitch, fucking with Sacha's life.

He tightened his hands Aleks' shirt, shaking him just a little. "Aleks, you dumb fuck, what did you tell him?"

Aleks' eyes closed, head tipping back. He sagged, becoming dead weight against Sacha's hands, threads popping in his shirt. Sacha let him go. Aleks dropped back down to his feet and immediately stepped out of range, putting the coffee table between them.

Aleks gave him a blank look. "You should be careful," he said, not a fucking answer at all.

Sacha's breath caught. He couldn't hold the rage in, already too on edge thinking about the past, the colonies, the real terror that he might be shipped back for a painful, depressing death. His hand flew out before his mind caught up, catching the little lamp on the end table and sending it flying to the ground with a smash.  _"You and your fucking jealousy are going to ruin everything!"_

Aleks jumped back, stumbling over the overstuffed armchair, curling in on himself as though Sacha was going to storm him and smash him too.

He didn't; the anger leaving him just as suddenly and completely as it'd come. He turned and left Aleks to clean up his mess just like always; just like he was trying to do with Ethan.

Sacha slammed the door to his room when he got there, hoped that made Aleks jump, too. He went to his knees by the side of the bed, groping around underneath it. He pulled out the half-empty bottle easily, whiskey dribbling out of his mouth and down his neck when Sacha took a swig. He clenched his eyes shut, drinking again, feeling the warmth spread through him and savoring it.

He didn't know how long he stayed there. At some point, he stopped drinking. At some point, he attempted to do some of the work he needed to finish…at some point, he started packing a bag. The sun had set by the time he stumbled out the front door. Aleks had either been in his room or had left before Sacha had. When he passed through the living room, the lamp was conspicuous only in its absence, all the pieces of it cleaned up off the floor.

Sacha found himself in The Crown a little while later, dropping his bag to the floor in front of the bar and taking a seat. He ordered a beer, and then another, kept them coming until he remembered that he only had so much money to spend on overpriced booze. Then he slowed down, slumped and alone against the stripped wood of the bar, grimacing against the sounds of the rowdy bar rats around him.

He felt too fucking old for all of it; so far removed from the people around him he might as well have been back on Mars. He took another pull on the bottle when he thought of Mars, so fucking sick of that fucking planet and everything it stood for, hanging over his head like a constant threat. He had almost talked himself out of another beer when someone came to stand beside him.

Sacha steeled himself before looking up, not in the mood to get into a bar fight, not in the mood to try to humor some drunken idiot who wanted to talk with him. When he looked up, however, he realized that the person next to him was there for another reason entirely.

She smiled at him; lopsided and slow. Her lips were red, eyes dark-rimmed and watching Sacha with interest. "Hi," she said, leaning one arm up against the bar, almost popping one tit out of the top of her black dress. "I'm Natalie. Can I buy you a drink?"

And Sacha shrugged because he wasn't going to get one another way, and she was cute enough. She didn't waste any time, leaning closer as soon as Sacha had another beer in his hand, putting a hand on his knee. Sacha kept it there, amused by the attention, trying to pretend he was interested when she started talking. He could hardly hear her though, the noise in the bar so loud that he could only catch every third word.

She didn't seem to care, sidling closer to Sacha with every passing minute, her fingers tracing up the inner seam of his pants. Then she leaned up, whispered in his ear, "Do you want to get out of here?"

Sacha could have done it, almost took her up on it because she was pretty and ready and uncomplicated. She was a colony brat just like the rest of them; it was obvious in the set of her eyes and long dark hair, more obvious in the hardened little edge around herself, as though she was just waiting for the world to do her wrong, throw her a curveball…as though she was expecting it.

Sacha got that—he did, and it was for that reason he almost said yes. He lifted a hand, fingered the curled end of one lock of hair, rubbing it between his fingers. Her gaze hardened, watching Sacha inspect her, and he knew that look, too—just another girl from the colonies who'd been treated like a whore way too many times in her life.

Sacha saw that look in himself sometimes, when he wasn't expecting it; corner of his eye when he passed by a mirror—just a glimpse of who he used to be; the ghost of his past that he could never quite shake.

He understood this girl. He understood when she pushed his hand away, when she turned and left him alone. He'd spent too long looking; inspecting the merchandise, trying to settle on her price. She'd been treated like a colony whore way too many times in her life. When Sacha finally stumbled out the front door a while later, his bag hanging haphazardly off one shoulder, he was still wondering if she'd earned the title like he had.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT TAKES ME SO LONG TO WRITE THIS IDKY I'M SORRY <3

**Ethan**

He didn't expect the knock on his door; was already in bed with Wolfe purring at his feet and his tail flicking back and forth lazily. Ethan glanced at the time, noted that it was before midnight but only just. The knocking came again—more banging than anything, so Ethan pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring Wolfe who lifted his head interestedly.

He glanced through the peephole when he reached the front door, then reared back when the only thing he saw was the close-up, muddled view of a dark eye. Ethan frowned and then gingerly flipped the lock, opening the door. He was pushed aside almost at once, would have been more worried if he didn't recognize the scowl and mess of black hair that brushed past him as soon as the door was opened wide enough.

"Sacha?" Ethan asked, closed the door and then stepped toward Sacha, who was pacing back and forth in the living room. He tripped before he got a second step, though, glanced down and saw a small duffel bag at his feet, black strap stretched across the pale carpet and reaching toward its owner.

Ethan frowned, decided against moving forward anymore; instead hovering by the front door, just watching Sacha's stumbling gait in his dark living room. He didn't say anything, but Ethan didn't try to talk to him again. He was obviously agitated, and definitely drunk if the smell of him when he'd burst into the apartment was any indication.

Ethan swallowed, eyes falling to that black bag on the floor again, his heart beating a little quicker.

"Fuck," Sacha finally said. The small glint of light from Ethan's room didn't filter far into the living room, so Sacha was completely in shadow; just a dark shape against the marginally lighter room. When he quit walking, Ethan just barely registered it, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Ethan licked his lips. "Um…are you all right?"

Sacha stayed silent. The creak of the floorboards and the sudden shift of shadows was the only warning Ethan got before Sacha was on him, shoving him back against the front door. Ethan didn't know what he was expecting, tilted his head up to try to read Sacha's expression, but he didn't do anything else, just stood there with an arm on either side of Ethan's head, watching him.

His face was still in shadow, blocking out Ethan's bedroom light as he loomed over him. "I need a place to stay."

"You—" Ethan broke off, cheeks flaming. "For—what do you mean?"

Sacha ducked down, pressing his forearms flat against the door, tips of his fingers brushing through Ethan's hair, nose skimming against Ethan's jaw; hot breath rushing quick against Ethan's throat.

"I need a place to stay," he repeated.

Ethan swallowed, distracted with Sacha sighing against him, pressing closer to rock his crotch against the sharp jut of Ethan's hipbone. "For tonight?"

"Mmm," Sacha said, but Ethan's eyes had fallen back on the duffel bag, and he wanted to question that answer since nothing seemed to add up, but Sacha was talking again. "I'm drunk."

He was still rocking against Ethan's hip, obviously hard and getting harder, and Ethan was finding it more difficult to concentrate, interested despite himself with Sacha's teeth suddenly catching at his earlobe and tugging gently. "I know," he finally managed, Sacha's hot tongue darting quick in his ear.

Then it was gone, Sacha pulling away. He tilted his head just enough for the light to catch his face, for Ethan to see him smirk, his eyes heavy-lidded. He gave Ethan an amused, sidelong glance. "So, you going to take care of me?" he asked. "You owe me one."

It was technically true; Sacha had given Ethan a place to stay when he was too inebriated to make it home safe. He nodded, no way to say no, no real desire to with Sacha still pressed close; the heat and smell of him still overwhelming.

Sacha grinned, backed up a step and hooked two fingers into the top of Ethan's pajama pants, tugging him forward as Sacha backed into the bedroom.

Ethan swallowed, too distracted by Sacha's dark look and little smile to warn him when he suddenly sat down at the foot of the bed—right on the cat. Wolfe hissed at the same moment that Sacha cursed and jumped up, his fingers slipping away from Ethan and making the elastic waistband of his pants snap hard against this stomach.

"What the  _fuck_?" he said as Wolfe leapt off the bed and streaked past Ethan into the hallway.

"My cat," Ethan said, glancing toward the dark living room where Wolfe had probably sequestered himself behind the couch again. "He, um, he doesn't really like strangers."

Sacha sank back onto the bed, toeing his shoes off and undoing the button to his jeans as he lay back. Ethan just watched, wasn't sure how to react once Sacha pushed his pants down and shoved those over the side of the mattress. He groaned, sat up and shrugged out of his jacket, dropping that to the floor, as well. Then he just leaned back on his elbows and looked at Ethan, licking his lips.

Ethan flushed and glanced away, scratched at his neck.

Sacha said, "Hey," and Ethan looked toward him again. "It's your bed," he continued. "Aren't you going to lie down?"

Ethan sucked in a breath, took a step forward and then backtracked, hitting the lights so the room plunged into darkness. He was still flushed, awkward even when Sacha couldn't see him. He tripped over Sacha's discarded pants on the floor, caught himself with one hand on Sacha's leg on the bed before he took it away again.

Sacha gave a little exhalation of breath; chuckling. Ethan's face heated even more as he gingerly climbed onto the bed, trying to avoid brushing Sacha more than necessary. He shifted over him in the darkness, startled when the cool tips of Sacha's fingers brushed over the inside of his elbow.

Ethan dropped onto the bed, settling between Sacha and the wall, burrowing under the covers, trying to ignore Sacha who followed his lead. It was quiet and dark except for the very faint light that filtered through the blinds from the streetlights outside. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, Ethan lying perfectly still beside Sacha; their shoulders just barely touching.

Then Sacha shifted, sighed and rolled toward him, one hand slipping underneath Ethan's shirt; sliding up his stomach and across his chest.

"Sacha?" Ethan asked, gasped when Sacha suddenly caught his nipple between two fingers and squeezed gently, then laughed against Ethan's neck.

"Thought you were going to take care of me," Sacha said, and suddenly he rolled over, lifted up until he was hovering just above Ethan; knees on either side of Ethan's waist.

Ethan cleared his throat, peered up at Sacha's face, which was barely distinguishable in the shadows. "I just thought you meant giving you a place to stay for the night," he said, his voice almost nothing.

Sacha lowered himself down, inching into the light sifting through the windows; sudden glint of his teeth when he smiled. The tips of his hair brushed against Ethan's forehead, and he was so close that Ethan could smell his breath; practically drunk off it himself with how strong the scent of alcohol was.

Ethan blinked fast, eyes glancing at Sacha's mouth before looking up again. "I don't think this is a good idea," he said, no conviction, no sound. Then Sacha was even closer, their noses bumping, and Ethan could feel the heat of him, could feel the barest press of Sacha's body against his.

Sacha's nose bumped against his, their lips brushing, and even though Ethan had said the words, knew it wasn't a good idea, he till tilted his face up, almost automatically. There was a warm gush of air against his cheek; Sacha's quick exhalation, maybe some form of a laugh. Ethan couldn't bring himself to be riled, didn't have enough time to muster the energy when Sacha's lips brushed against his, barely long enough for Ethan to register the pressure before Sacha pulled back again, rubbing his nose against Ethan's.

"I thought…" Ethan trailed off, licked his lips, Sacha still so close that he couldn't focus on anything else.

There was a moment of silence, Ethan's eyes tracing over Sacha's face; the only thing in his field of vision. Then Sacha's smile widened, leaned closer to kiss Ethan's lips quick. "Thought what, baby?"

Ethan frowned, tried to track down his train of thought, but he almost felt drunker than Sacha seemed; no idea what he'd been about to say. Didn't matter in the end when Sacha just laughed and leaned down again, this time kissing Ethan in earnest; hard press of lips and sudden plunge of tongue, and maybe he was drunker than he came off because the kiss was sloppy, all tongue and spit and hot, strong breath.

Ethan pushed back, pushed up, lifted his hands and gripped Sacha's shoulders, keeping him in place. Only for a moment, though, until Sacha paused and broke away. He levered the full weight of his body down on top of Ethan, pushing the air out of Ethan's lungs along with fitting their hips together, and Ethan wasn't expecting the little moan that he let loose; wasn't expecting Sacha to kiss him again so quickly afterward.

It was Ethan who had to break away after a few moments, on the verge of passing out with no way to get air in his lungs with Sacha on top of him. He turned his face away, gasping; let Sacha's lips move across his cheek and down his neck, leaving hot, wet kisses in his wake. He found the quickly thrumming pulse in the side of Ethan's neck and bit down; sank his teeth in and then pulled back to rub his lips against the sensitive skin. He sighed and then pulled away, rolled away and settled back onto the bed beside Ethan.

The covers went with him, exposing Ethan to the cold of the room. He could breathe again, easily, but it suddenly didn't seem worth it with Sacha so far away. Ethan frowned, little noise slipping out of him that might have been a whine. He slid closer; pressed up against Sacha's side and smoothed a hand over his chest.

Sacha groaned, and when Ethan glanced toward his face, he saw that his eyes were closed, clenched tight, one hand curled up and resting against his forehead.

Ethan leaned back. "Are you all right?"

Sacha just groaned again, and Ethan suddenly remembered what Sacha had told him so many nights ago, when he'd taken Ethan back to his place after Simon's party. "Don't puke in my bed."

Sacha gave a snorting laugh and then moaned again, burrowing farther under the sheets, not reaching out for Ethan one bit; the mood lost between them.

Ethan sighed and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. They weren't touching except for the brush of their shoulders, the occasional touching of their thighs beneath the covers whenever Ethan shifted. Eventually, Sacha made an annoyed noise and reached out, hand snaking beneath the covers to grip Ethan's hip.

"Stop moving," he grumbled. "You're shaking the whole bed."

Ethan frowned, flushed, torn between being annoyed and being distracted with Sacha's hand so close to where he wanted it. "Sorry," he said.

Sacha didn't respond, didn't move his hand, but within a few moments Ethan could hear him breathing deeply; on the verge of snoring, and Ethan figured that he couldn't expect anything else from their night.

He drifted off with Sacha's hand still touching him, the heat of his body pressed close to Ethan's. A thought kept nagging at him, though, demanding his attention, and despite Sacha's bag in the living room; too big for just a simple overnight bag, Ethan couldn't help but remember the last time Sacha had been in this room. He couldn't help but wonder whether he'd wake up alone again, just as he had then.

Ethan come around abruptly the next morning, still thinking about Sacha, wondered briefly if he'd even fallen asleep at all with how seamlessly his thoughts pieced together from the night before. He turned over, heart lifting and then dropping in quick succession when he turned to look at the room at large and found it empty; the bed beside him cool and barely rumpled.

Ethan sighed, his face heating up as he pulled the covers up to his ears and curled toward the wall. He was embarrassed; humiliated that Sacha couldn't even bear to sleep in his bed for a full night, couldn't stand to be around Ethan any more than necessary. He frowned, couldn't bear to close his eyes even when all he wanted to do was fall back asleep and sleep for the rest of the day, maybe even the week.

It wasn't for the first time he wondered what exactly Sacha was doing with him, wondered what exactly  _he_  was doing with Sacha. It had started as a crush, maybe not even that; just an interest in the handsome, dark man who'd stormed into the financial aid office so many months ago. Ethan hadn't known what he wanted then—still wasn't sure what he wanted now, if he was being honest with himself.

All Ethan knew was that he wanted Sacha, in whatever way Ethan could have him, but it didn't seem as though Sacha felt the same. Ethan pushed a hand against his pillow, trying to fluff it up, trying to make good on his desire to sleep the rest of the day. He had just closed his eyes when he heard a bang from the kitchen.

Ethan sighed, opened his eyes and pushed back the covers, easing out of bed and into the hallway. He figured Wolfe was still upset from the night before; had hopped up onto one of the kitchen counters as a way to make Ethan pay for inviting Sacha over.

Ethan was already saying, "Wolfe, get down," as he entered the kitchen, was brought up short when the cat was nowhere to be found. Sacha was standing in front of the coffee maker, the metal carafe dangling from one of his hands and banging against the edge of the counter as he tried to load coffee grounds into the coffee maker with the other.

"Sacha?"

"How the fuck does this thing work?" Sacha asked, scowling, looking tired and sleep-rumpled, the waistband of his boxers riding low and exposing one tanned hip.

"What…" Ethan stepped forward, watched blankly as Sacha finally closed the top of the coffee pot and shoved the pot back in. He pressed a button and then stepped away, glaring until the machine gave a low groan and started to brew.

"What are you doing here?" Ethan asked.

The look that Sacha threw at him was clearly one of annoyance, but Ethan didn't have to bear the weight too long, with Sacha turning away to open the fridge and stick his head inside. He pulled out a carton of eggs and the half-gallon of milk that Ethan knew for a fact was almost empty, dumping them both on the counter before he glanced around the kitchen.

Ethan just watched at Sacha opened cabinets and peered inside, finally reaching up to pull down a small class bowl, where he cracked a few of the eggs and finished off the last of the milk. He found a fork somewhere and began whisking the mixture together; little drops of eggs and milk flecking the countertop.

"Well?"

Ethan blinked, met Sacha's gaze, which was suddenly focused on him. "What?"

Sacha's lip curled. "You just going to stand there and watch?"

Ethan licked his lips and stepped forward, still too surprised with the fact that Sacha was there—that he hadn't left in the middle of the night like last time—that he couldn't even be upset with him treating Ethan's kitchen as his own.

"You got a frying pan?" Sacha asked, starting to open cupboards again.

Ethan nodded, slid up beside him and reached toward the cabinet just in front of Sacha, standing on tiptoe to reach the top shelf. Sacha reached over him, took the frying pan out of his hand easily and brought it down. He slanted Ethan a little glance; something mocking and amused, but then his attention was diverted with heating the pan on the stovetop.

Ethan cleared his throat, leaned against the sink and watched Sacha's back as he adjusted the temperature of the burner. "I didn't think you'd still be here," he tried again, was still waiting for an explanation.

One of Sacha's shoulders lifted, then dropped. He didn't look at Ethan.

Ethan pushed on, not content to let the subject drop. "Just considering…last time."

"What about it?" Sacha grunted. He opened a nearby drawer and dug around until he extracted a spatula.

Ethan started to speak again, but the sudden sizzle of the pan overshadowed him when Sacha dumped in the eggs. "Just…how you left last time," Ethan said, raising his voice just a bit.

Sacha finally turned to look at him, runny eggs dripping from his spatula and into the pan where his hand hovered. "I left last time," he said. "So? I told you I was staying this time, didn't I?"

He flushed when Sacha turned back to the stove, crossing his arms over his chest and giving the back of Sacha's head a sharp look. "What do you want from me?" Ethan asked, reworded before he could back down: "What do you want…from this? From…us?"

Sacha's shoulders tightened; fabric of his t-shirt stretching across his shoulder blades. He didn't say anything, and Ethan almost expected him to just ignore the question as he continued to cook in silence, but after a moment, Sacha turned the stove off, moved the pan to a cool burner and turned to Ethan.

Ethan backed up, but there was nowhere for him to go when he was already pressed back against the countertop. Sacha crowded him anyway; bracing a hand on either side of Ethan and tilting forward. "What's it matter?"

Ethan swallowed, met Sacha's dark gaze for a brief moment before letting his gaze drop again, settling around Sacha's hip. "It's important," Ethan muttered. "We need to know what we're getting into."

Sacha snorted, one of his hands shifting, but Ethan didn't see his destination until he'd found it; slipping down the front of Ethan's loose pants and gripping him gently.

Ethan gasped at the same moment that Sacha chuckled and leaned closer. "I thought this is what I was getting into."

It was a copout, Ethan knew that, but when Sacha bridged the space between them and kissed him, Ethan couldn't bring himself to break away. Even when Sacha pulled back, sank to his knees right there in the middle of Ethan's kitchen, Ethan didn't try to push him away, to ask him again.

He didn't feel right about it, about anything that was happening; Sacha's quick decision to put an end to the conversation with sex making him vaguely uncomfortable, but he didn't stop it. Ethan let his head fall back, looking at the white expanse of his ceiling as Sacha eased his pants down over his hips and took him into his mouth. When it was done, when Sacha was standing up again a few minutes later, wiping his mouth, he turned back to the stove like nothing had happened and shoveled his eggs onto a plate, taking a seat at the kitchen table; their conversation obviously over.

Sacha stayed through the rest of the day, at one point pulling out some clean clothes from the bag he brought with him and settling onto the couch beside Ethan while they both did their homework in silence. When, at the end of the night, Sacha was still there, Ethan turned the TV on mute and cleared his throat.

"It's getting kind of late," he tried, "and, um, I have class tomorrow."

"Me too," Sacha muttered, frowning down at a large textbook propped in his lap.

"So…" Ethan trailed off, cheeks heating.

Sacha glanced up from his book, meeting Ethan's gaze. "Thought you were going to let me stay."

Ethan blinked, shifted a little on the couch so he was turned a bit more toward Sacha. "I…did," he said, then frowned. "How long were you planning to stay?"

Sacha shrugged, eyes back on his book. "A while."

"What's wrong with your apartment?"

Sacha snorted, turning a page. "Nothing wrong with my apartment. Something wrong with my roommate."

And that was it. Ethan knew Sacha wasn't much for socializing, and Ethan felt a bit awkward pushing him. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to Sacha's company, quiet and dour though it might have been. Even with Simon's brief absence from his couch, Ethan had been lonely; no one to keep him company but Wolfe, who tended to show an interest in Ethan only around mealtimes.

So when Sacha shoved Ethan back onto his bed at the end of the night and burrowed down beside him, Ethan let him. When they woke up in the morning and got ready for class together, Sacha slipping into the bathroom to press up against Ethan in the shower, Ethan let him. By the third day, Sacha had made Ethan's apartment his own; Ethan tripping over his shoes whenever he walked through the front door, Sacha's wet towel on the bathroom floor when Ethan went in to brush his teeth at night.

Ethan didn't ask again how long Sacha was staying. It was too nice to eat dinner with someone every night, too nice to have Sacha press him down and kiss him before falling asleep draped across Ethan every night. By Friday afternoon, things between them were normal, almost natural, and when Ethan got back from class, he stepped over Sacha's things by the door without even thinking it.

After dinner, Sacha goaded him into pulling out the game console that had been gathering dust beneath Ethan's television, and twenty minutes later they had moved to the floor just in front of the TV, playing a racing game that Sacha had picked out by saying, "Well, I guess it's better than nothing."

When Ethan began to thoroughly beat him, though, guiding his car easily through the pixelated streets of a cityscape by the ocean, Ethan suspected that he would rather be playing nothing.

"You fucking rig this thing?" Sacha asked as his car sideswiped a sudden pedestrian and wobbled dangerously.

Ethan snorted, grinned, but didn't take his eyes off the screen. "No, you just suck."

"Do not," Sacha muttered, and then he was scooting closer, practically right on top of Ethan as he tried to maneuver his car, his elbow digging hard into Ethan's arm and making him lose control and run his car into the side of an office building.

"Hey!"

Sacha laughed, didn't apologize as he overtook Ethan. He sat back again, smirking. Ethan licked his lips, swung his car around and hurried after Sacha, didn't have to wait long before Sacha's reckless driving got him in trouble again and Ethan passed him with a laugh.

"Fuck off," Sacha said, and then he was right up against Ethan's side again, not even trying to be subtle as he dug his elbow into Ethan's side.

"You cheater," Ethan said, couldn't help laughing when Sacha's elbow rubbed hard against his waist, when he got so distracted by Ethan struggling to keep his focus that Sacha lost his; drove his car straight over the side of the road and into the ocean.

"Oh, fuck!" he yelled, throwing his hands up, both of them watching as the little Porsche filled with water, and the words 'GAME OVER' flashed in red across the screen.

"Serves you right," Ethan said, laughing again when the driver of his car was rewarded with a golden trophy. "Maybe if you didn't try so hard to che—"

Sacha grabbed him and pulled Ethan closer, cutting Ethan off with a sharp bite to his lower lip. When he pulled away again, he licked his lips, his hands tight around Ethan's wrists. "Rematch."

Ethan smiled, nodded, so close to Sacha that he couldn't think straight, the words coming out of his mouth before he could rethink them. "Come on vacation with me."

Sacha blinked, pulled away but kept his hands clenched around Ethan's arms. "What?"

He swallowed, hadn't meant to bring that up tonight, wasn't even sure if he was going to bring it up at all. "My—I'm going away for a while next week. We're going down south to the coast…you should come."

Sacha narrowed his eyes. "We?"

"My family," Ethan said, voice lowering, expecting Sacha to turn him down at that moment. "My parents and me."

To Ethan's surprise, Sacha's eyebrows lifted, expression interested. "Your parents?"

Ethan blinked and nodded, biting his lip.

"The Dean?" Sacha asked.

Ethan felt his heart drop, certain that Sacha would turn him down at that. He nodded again.

Sacha released his grip on Ethan and sat back, his face inscrutable. "All right."

Ethan straightened, figured that he had misheard. "What?"

"I'll go," Sacha said, looking toward the television again. "Sounds…fun."

"Really?"

Sacha gave him a sharp look. "Yes, really. What, now you don't want me to go?"

"No, I just—"

"Good. So let's play."

Ethan kept quiet and picked up his controller again, slanted a glance at Sacha and couldn't keep himself from smiling.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter and the next one were originally meant to be one, but 10,000 words later I figured that was probably not a good idea. BUT, the good news is that this means the next chapter is 95% written, so it should be up veeeeery soon. <3
> 
> Also, the name 'Richard' comes from asocialconstruct's 'Happy Families'

**Sacha**

"Fuck, this is nice." Sacha peered around the large office at the dark paneling and bookshelves lining the walls. Everything was clean and organized; nothing out of place. On the large desk in front of the window, a silver nameplate caught the light: Dean Richard Hall. Sacha glanced at Ethan who was peering out one of the large windows, and then hastily wiped his sweaty palms against his pants.

Ethan turned to look at him, then, a bit flushed, smiling fleetingly at Sacha before he paced toward the wall, looking at the books and pictures lining the bookshelves.

"Hey."

Ethan paused, took his sweet time turning around to look at Sacha, and when he finally did, he only met Sacha's gaze for a moment before glancing away. Sacha didn't know what the hell Ethan was so nervous about; if he didn't want Sacha to come with him on this fucking vacation he didn't have to invite him. Anyway, it was Sacha's future that was hanging in the balance here; dependent on making a good impression on Ethan's father.

"How much longer do we have to wait?"

Ethan glanced at the clock on the wall, then shook his head. "I'm not sure. He just said to wait in here until he'd finished with his meeting so we could all go the airport together." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, then he was turning away again.

Sacha stepped forward, put a hand on Ethan's bony shoulder over his nice, unwrinkled button-down. Ethan startled, glanced over his shoulder at Sacha and flushed darker.

His lips were trembling when Sacha kissed him, and for a moment Sacha thought that maybe Ethan was too nervous to be distracted, but then he was moaning, turning and grabbing at Sacha's shirt with both hands, wedging up against his front. Sacha pushed down his surprise with ease; was beginning to expect Ethan's eagerness no matter what, always ready to let Sacha push him around.

So Sacha pushed; pushed Ethan away from the wall and toward the edge of the desk, forcing him to sit down, nudging a stack of papers that went slightly askew. Ethan gasped as he pulled back, looking down at the desk, trying to put the papers back in order.

Sacha grabbed at him again, put a hand around the back of Ethan's neck and forced his face up.

"Wait—" Ethan started, but he didn't get any further with Sacha kissing him again, and he only resisted for a brief moment before relaxing, tilting his head back, opening his legs so Sacha could press up against his front.

Sacha grunted with Ethan's hands suddenly winding around his waist and bringing him closer, sifted one of his own hands through the hair on either side of Ethan's face, put the other on the desk near Ethan's thigh and leaned down, pushing Ethan into the desk. He tensed for a moment, just quickly until Sacha gripped him tighter by the hair, tipped his face back and bit hard at Ethan's lower lip. He gasped at that, allowed himself to be pushed down onto his back with Sacha leaning over him.

"My dad—" Ethan started to say as soon as they broke apart for air, but Ethan's father was the last person Sacha wanted to think about then, so he slid one hand between them to grip the bulge at the front of Ethan's pants. He kissed him again until Ethan went pliant, until they were both panting and Ethan's hips were twitching and quivering, body squirming as he tried to rub himself up against Sacha better.

Something hit the floor with a clatter, but Sacha hardly registered the noise, didn't look up and wasn't bothered at all when Ethan didn't either, when he didn't stop the steady rock of his hips up into Sacha's hand. When Sacha pulled back to work at Ethan's belt and the buttons on the front of his pants, Ethan was left panting and red-faced against the desk, eyebrows drawn in a little when he looked up at Sacha, as if he weren't sure what was happening. But then he arched his back and moaned, body lengthening, when Sacha slid a palm down the front of his pants and stroked him skin-to-skin.

Sacha leaned down and kissed him again, Ethan turning his face toward him at the last moment to catch at Sacha's lips with his own, to clench both hands in Sacha's hair and feed his sweet little moans and whimpers right into Sacha's mouth. He pulled back long enough to look Ethan in the face, still stroking him slowly, to watch Ethan bite his lip and just wait for Sacha to do something.

Then Sacha pulled back again, sank to his knees on the side of the desk and pulled Ethan's hips forward. There was the sound of crinkling papers and Ethan making a little noise, then he was sitting up, shifting clumsily toward Sacha and watching as Sacha swallowed him down.

It was different from the last time in Ethan's kitchen, different from the times Sacha had gone down on him before going to bed, different in a way that he didn't want to think about, with Ethan petting his hair soft and slow, touching Sacha's face and moaning when Sacha pulled back to roll his tongue over the tip of Ethan's cock, glancing up to meet his eye. Sacha had gotten used to Ethan's expressions; recognized the way his face scrunched up a little when he was about to come, the abortive little jerks of his hips when he wanted to push himself down Sacha's throat but was too considerate to go through with it. Sacha had discovered these traits, so when Ethan's breathing started to speed up, Sacha pushed him harder, sank down lower on his cock, let the head hit the back of his throat until Ethan was shivering, legs shifting against the desk and hands clenching and relaxing in Sacha's hair.

"Sacha," he gasped, hips jerking so forcefully they almost flew off the desk. Sacha pulled back a bit, eyes pricking with tears, breathed through his nose and pushed down again until Ethan gasped. "I'm—Sacha—I'm—"

A voice outside and Sacha pulled back fast, left Ethan gasping, making a choked little noise that didn't sound pleased at all. Sacha stood up, tried to flatten his hair down at the same moment that Ethan's hand fell to his cock, stripping himself fast and hard, even with the voice outside the door getting louder.

"Ethan," Sacha snapped, even while he watched Ethan's face scrunch up, hips leaping against the desk again as he groaned and came, managing to cup his unoccupied hand around the head of his cock to stop from making a mess.

Sacha blinked, watched Ethan come down and wanted badly to stick a hand down his own pants and get off as well. But he just gritted his teeth and glanced around, found a box of tissues across the room and tossed them toward Ethan, where they bounced off the side of the desk and hit the ground.

"Ethan," Sacha said again, the voice too close for comfort now with Ethan still sitting on the messy desk, shaky and blushing.

Finally Ethan stood up, wiped his hand clean with a tissue and then clumsily did up his pants. Sacha attempted to put everything back on the desk while Ethan tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt and pat down his hair.

Sacha had just picked up the fallen nameplate and set it back on the desk when the door suddenly opened. He and Ethan both looked around at the same time, and as the Dean entered, phone pressed to his ear, Sacha suddenly realized that he was still hard, probably red-faced and disheveled; glanced at Ethan and saw that he didn't look subtle at all, still shaky and biting his lip, looking at the ground.

The Dean didn't look up as he entered, tablet held in front of him and phone held to his ear, skirted around both Sacha and Ethan to get to his desk as though they weren't even there. He sat down in the chair, set his elbows on the desk, and there was a fleeting moment when Sacha wanted to laugh, too overwhelmed picturing that same desk with Ethan spread across it only moments before, Sacha's hand down his pants.

Then he was hanging up the phone, glancing toward them, and Sacha straightened at the same moment that Ethan cleared his throat.

"So, Ethan," the Dean said, getting to his feet again. His eyes met Sacha's, clearly assessing, and Sacha gritted his teeth against the scrutiny. "This is your…friend?"

"Yes," said Ethan, so quick, tone almost defiant, that Sacha felt even more uncomfortable. "This is Sacha. Sacha, this is my father—Richard."

Richard held his hand out, and Sacha took it with only a small hesitation, watching their hands clasp and thinking,  _That's the hand that was just grabbing your son's dick_  and feeling equal parts amused and nauseated.

Then Richard was squeezing his hand, tighter and more forceful than was strictly necessary, and something about the cold way he looked at Sacha made him sure that Richard had already made up his mind about him. Sacha gripped his hand hard and looked him straight in the eye, determined to change that. The contact broke, Richard looked back at Ethan, and maybe Sacha just imagined the way he discretely wiped his hand against his dress slacks, but maybe not.

"Are you ready? We should leave for the airport soon."

Ethan nodded, blush already fading from his cheeks, face stonier than Sacha had ever seen it.

"Good," Richard said, didn't look anywhere near Sacha, and Sacha immediately thought that the nickname Dick had never been so appropriate. He turned to his desk as Sacha watched, gathering his thing. "I'll bring the car around."

The car was black and so meticulously polished that it caught every slight gleam and reflection from the buildings on either side. Sleek and low to the ground, Sacha hesitated before following Ethan toward the trunk. He frowned when Ethan only set his suitcase on the pavement and then started to walk away toward the backseat. Sacha wondered briefly if Ethan was just expecting him to take care of their things when someone else rounded the other side of the car; a dark-haired, dark-eyed man who popped open the trunk and set Ethan's suitcase inside next to the one already there.

Then the man turned toward him, hand outstretched and ready to take Sacha's bag, and Sacha handed it over reluctantly, stomach clenching down hard at the sight of some other colony brat working for Ethan's family. He didn't feel surprised as much as he felt caught off guard, the reality of his position and Ethan's thrust on him again. The other man closed the trunk, then headed toward the driver's side door without looking back at Sacha, and Sacha just watched him go until he slid into the back next to Ethan.

After the car had pulled away from the curb and begun wending its way through campus, Ethan leaned toward him. "Are you all right?" he asked, voice low, head tilted toward Sacha and away from where his father sat peering at his tablet in the seat perpendicular to theirs.

Sacha blinked, tore his gaze from the head of dark hair at the wheel, and looked at Ethan; wide-eyed and fair and looking concerned. "I'm fine."

Ethan swallowed, made an abortive movement with his head as though he'd started to glance around and then stopped himself. His voice lowered even more, forcing Sacha to lean toward him as he said, "You don't have to be nervous. It's not—"

"That's not it," Sacha said, louder than he'd intended, causing Dick to look up from his tablet and give Sacha a short, impenetrable look.

Ethan leaned away just a little, eyebrows drawing in, but all he said was, "All right," before leaning back again, turning toward the window.

Sacha put a hand on his knee without thinking about it, trying to smooth over the moment, but almost at once Ethan had pushed it away, red-faced and glancing toward his father, who had returned to his computer and hadn't noticed anything. Ethan swallowed, looked at Sacha and shook his head, then turned toward the window once more, bringing his knees together and away from Sacha.

Sacha sighed, edgy and uncomfortable and unable to look anywhere without getting the urge to open the door and throw himself out of the awkward silence of the car. In the end, he curled into his corner of the car, crossing his arms and slumping down in his seat, staring at the tall, sleek buildings that passed by on their way to the airport.

Sacha jerked up when the car stopped, glanced out the window at a sprawling silver airport with large, black pillars standing on either side of a set of automatic glass doors. Sacha stepped out of the car, looked up to see the glass case of a sky bridge just above him. He didn't realize that Ethan had gotten out of the car or collected their things until he was at Sacha's side, setting their bags down on the curb.

"It's different from the shuttle station, isn't it?" he asked.

Sacha looked around, didn't ask how Ethan knew what the shuttle station looked like, and nodded. "Bigger," he said. Bigger and less inviting, with obvious security cameras sweeping back and forth, capturing every family and executive walking into the building, aided by guards who paced slowly in front of the building, watching the cars roll in.

"This way."

Sacha looked up, looked toward Dick who was weaving through the crowds of people, not walking toward the doors, but parallel to them. Ethan hurried after him, his suitcase rolling easily over the pavement. He glanced back once and met Sacha's eye, and Sacha picked up his bag as well. He was too concerned trying to keep Ethan's blond head in sight that he didn't have a chance to look back at the car until it was already gone; pulled away and out of sight, its colony driver going with it.

Dick led them around the bag of the building, to a tall metal gate armed by three more guards; one just in front of the door, two others flanking him. The middle one stepped forward as soon as they were close, but then Dick pulled out his ID, and all it took was a quick glance for the guard to wave a hand at his two companions, both of whom turned to either end of the tall, metal doors and did something out of sight.

The doors began to slide open, revealing little by little a sprawling airfield. Ethan and his father strode through without hesitation, and Sacha trailed behind them, feeling distinctly out of place and trying hard not to let it show. Ethan hung back once he'd passed through the doors, lingered at Sacha's side and matched his pace as they followed Dick to a small, white plane. A man in a white shirt and dark blue pants met them as they reached the stairs leading up to the plane.

Sacha got enough information to know that this was the pilot, that he and Dick were friends, before he stopped caring, too distracted with ascending the steps and getting his first glimpse into the plane. It was more spacious than he'd been expecting, with wide, comfortable looking seats and a few small tables in the back.

There was already a woman on board, and once Sacha had passed through the doorway, the pilot sealed the hatch behind them, and Sacha realized that they'd be the only passengers. The pilot divested Sacha of his bag, stowing it in an overhead cabin before he realized what was happening. Ethan and Dick were standing with the woman, their luggage already put away as well.

"Um, Mom," Ethan said, drawing the blonde woman forward, up out of her seat. "This is Sacha. Sacha, this is my mother, Anna."

"Good to meet you," Anna said, offering Sacha her hand. Sacha took it, trying not to squeeze too hard, realized his caution wasn't necessary when Anna gripped his hand hard. She gave Sacha a little smile, almost amused, and Sacha had already decided that he liked her before she took her seat again, Dick settling in just beside her.

Ethan grabbed his arm and led Sacha forward, away from his parents, dropping down in the window seat and leaving the one beside him open. Sacha sat down and put on his seat belt, leaning forward to look past Ethan and out the window. A few workers lingered outside, talking and wandering around, occasionally turning their heads to speak into their headsets before relaxing again.

Sacha watched them until he realized that Ethan had turned to look at him, until he realized that there were no people outside anymore because their plane was moving, trembling as it pushed forward onto a long runway. He didn't realize he was gripping the armrests until Ethan put a hand over his white knuckles, leaning in.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Sacha didn't answer, closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at Ethan, wished there was a way to block out the shaking of his body as the aircraft gained speed.

"Isn't this like the shuttle?" Ethan asked then, breath hot against Sacha's ear, and it was almost a distraction, but not quite.

"No," Sacha said, nothing like the shuttle—the shuttle where you were strapped in so tightly you couldn't move, given a sedative beforehand so the only thing you felt was a nice sort of pressure low in your gut and then you were floating.

Ethan's hand was still on his knuckles, then suddenly he applied pressure, forcing Sacha to break his grip, turning his palm over. Ethan linked their fingers before Sacha could do anything, but maybe he wouldn't have done anything anyway with Ethan's fingers warm and bony between his, letting Sacha grip him tightly without a sound and without trying to pull away. Sacha was so distracted focusing on the feeling, on Ethan holding his hand when he hadn't even let Sacha touch his knee, that he didn't immediately notice they were airborne until he opened his eyes and glanced out the window, saw the sprawl of their city falling away.

"It's not bad," Ethan said, smiling when he turned away from the window to meet Sacha's gaze. "Right?"

Sacha untangled their fingers, crossed his arms over his chest again, heart still beating fast. "Right," he said, closing his eyes and hoping vainly to fall asleep.

He didn't, but that didn't stop him from pretending he had in the few hours it took to fly south. He grunted whenever Ethan tried to make conversation, and didn't make any more effort than that. After a few attempts, Ethan stopped trying. He practically leapt out of his seat when the plane touched down, waiting impatiently for the pilot to open the hatch again. When he did, when Sacha had his bag in hand, he descended the stairs. The air here was considerably warmer and balmier when Sacha stepped off the plane, and there was a distinct smell of salt in the air from the ocean nearby.

Another sleek, black car was waiting for them on the tarmac, another dark-haired colony driver taking their things and packing them in the trunk. He slid into the car beside Ethan again, sticking close to his side because Ethan was the only vaguely familiar thing he had.

Sacha listened as Ethan's parents made small talk, talking about work and their investments and something about property that Sacha tried to understand but couldn't. Eventually, when they reached minute twenty of their journey, Sacha stopped listening, wanted to talk to Ethan but couldn't think of anything to say, so he just stayed silent instead, peering out the window as they passed through tall apartment complexes and condominiums and then finally pulled up under the awning of a large, cream-colored building.

He opened the car door before the colony driver could do it for him, looked toward the large, wood front door and tall windows flanking it. The landscape was immaculate; flowers and small trees surrounding the half-circle of a driveway off the main road. The salt smell was even more distinct here, and through the tall windows Sacha could peer all the way through the house to another set of windows that looked out over the ocean.

Then the car was leaving, Ethan was at his side, saying, "Do you like it?" and Sacha just nodded dumbly because he had no idea what to do with so much unwarranted, useless extravagance. Inside the house, everything either gleamed or billowed; every surface was polished and sleek, every curtain was willowy and blew in the breeze from the back doors that Ethan's mother opened at once, opening up the house.

Ethan led Sacha upstairs, to a large, warm room with two separate beds with a small, dark wood table between them. "Um, I usually take this one," Ethan said, setting his bag down at the foot of the bed closest to the door. "If that's all right."

Sacha just shrugged, tossed his own bag onto the bed by the windows and opened the curtains. They covered not just a window but also a glass door that opened up onto a narrow balcony. Sacha stepped out onto it at once, edged around the chairs piled high with cushions and gripped the black metal railing and looked out across the ocean. He'd never been so close to it before; wider and bluer than he'd imagined, stretching into the horizon. He didn't know how long he stood there, just looking, when he heard the door open again.

"I don't know if you're hungry," Ethan said hesitantly, "but my mom said dinner would be ready soon, if we wanted to come down."

Sacha breathed in deep, eyes scanning from the houses on one side of them to the hotels and complexes on the other. But right in front of him; blue. "OK," he said, and followed Ethan in.

#

They had dinner outside on the wide back deck, ate some fancy and unpronounceable meat that he had to chew through for minutes because he was so distracted watching it be served to them by silent attendants. Ethan didn't seem to find it out of the ordinary, more polite than either of his parents, though; constantly saying  _thank you_  whenever anything was set down in front of him or taken away. Something about his attitude made Sacha feel a little less uncomfortable, made him want to reach under the tablecloth to try to grip his knee again. But he remembered earlier that day, and Ethan pushing him away, so he didn't.

"So, Sacha," Anna suddenly said, and Sacha's knife slipped, scraping harshly across his plate and flicking a piece of cauliflower onto the tablecloth.

"Um, yeah—yes?" He looked up, forced himself to meet Anna's dark gaze, told himself not to fuck this up too badly because everyone was watching him now, even Dick peering up to pin Sacha with a sharp look.

"Ethan tells me that you're on scholarship. You must be a good student." She gave Sacha a small smile, sipping at her water and waiting for him to say something.

"I—just a hard worker," he said, cheeks burning because that wasn't true, not the kind of work they thought—not the kind of work anyone with any self-respect would do to get to Earth.

"That's good," Dick said, and Sacha clenched his hands in his lap, the even tone of his voice setting him on edge because he didn't know how to decipher it, didn't know what was coming next. "Self-discipline is a hard trait to come by, nowadays."

Sacha couldn't tell if it was a dig or not, took it as one because he had already decided Ethan's father was a Dick through and through. "Yes, sir," he said stiffly.

"What are you studying?" Anna asked then, blond hair blowing in the slight breeze coming off the ocean, the trees behind her swaying easily.

"Neurobio," Sacha said, hands fisted together, one thumb rubbing hard over the back of his opposite hand over and over again.

Dick gave a low chuckle before anyone else could say anything, pushing at the food on his plate with a fork. "I guess it's good you're a hard worker," he said, not looking up. "There aren't a lot of pathways open to slackers in that field."

And Sacha wasn't a fucking idiot, clenched his teeth and tried not to look too obviously pissed. Either Ethan and Anna didn't notice Dick's barbs, or Sacha was making them up; looking for a way to make this any more difficult for himself than it already was.

"I know," Sacha said, maybe too harshly because suddenly Dick looked up, and Ethan jumped in.

"I interviewed Sacha for the paper," he said, "since he's such a promising student. We thought it would get some good publicity for the school."

He directed his gaze at his father, steady and determined, his lips pulled down just a little. It surprised Sacha how pissed he was to see Ethan look like that—upset; unhappy.

The waves washed into the shore, a distant laugh floated toward them from the resorts nearby. Sacha pushed his food around on his plate, jealous at how much fun that person was having compared to him, could only feel vaguely grateful when Anna guided the conversation away from him after that, and he could finish his meal in silence.

They went their separate ways after dinner with the promise of many more uncomfortable meals to come over the next few days. Sacha headed up to his room as Dick and Anna headed to theirs and Ethan made his way down the steps off the back porch; walking down to the steadily darkening beach. Sacha sighed and flopped back on his bed when he was alone, listening to the distant swaying of trees in the wind.

He rolled over and threw his arm over the side of the bed, grappling with his bag and pulling out his computer. Figured he might as well live up to his name as a good student and get some work done, couldn't afford not to with how much class he was missing to go on this trip—a trip that he was starting to think was a pointless waste of time, anyway. He pushed that thought aside, determined to try to redeem himself and get on Dick's good side over the next few days. He still had to pass his classes though, thinking about his tests and papers and dropping grades. He couldn't afford to fuck up anymore.

Sacha didn't hear the bedroom door open or the footsteps coming toward him. He was too busy reading over an old assignment his professor had commented on, pointing out everything he'd done wrong, then suddenly the bed beside him dipped. He rolled onto his side, shoulders aching from his cramped position on his stomach, huddled over his computer.

Ethan gave him a little smile, hair windswept and cheeks flushed. "Hi," he said. "You're working?"

Sacha grunted, closed his computer and set it on the ground, rolling up to sit on the bed beside Ethan. "Not anymore."

Ethan blinked, bit his bottom lip quickly before letting it settle back into place again. "You don't have to stop," he said. "I was just going to go to bed anyway."

"I know," Sacha said, put a hand on Ethan's knee and smiled when Ethan kept it there, when Ethan leaned in and kissed him; sighing into it as if he'd been waiting all day to do it.

Sacha almost understood, felt good and right to put a hand in Ethan's hair and bring him closer, to slip a hand down the front of his loose pants and grip him, already half-hard and panting for it. He pushed Ethan onto his back and jerked him off slow, laughing against his mouth when Ethan fumbled a shaky hand down Sacha's pants to touch him, too. Ethan came first, barely. He fed his small, broken moans straight into Sacha's mouth and pushed him over the edge, too, until they were both laying there, shaky and soiled.

Then Ethan pulled off his shirt, pushed off his pants until he was in just his boxers. He climbed under the sheets of Sacha's bed and then looked at him until Sacha stripped down too, pushed up against Ethan's back. Ethan reached up for a moment, leaning away to turn off the lamp on the bedside table. Sacha pressed his mouth against the smooth planes of Ethan's neck, skimming upward when Ethan settled back into the bed after plunging them in soft darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3

**Sacha**

Sacha woke before Ethan did, groaning and leaning away from Ethan breathing hot morning breath in his face. He slipped out of bed and watched Ethan frown a bit in his sleep, spreading out across the sheets Sacha had just vacated. After a moment, he sighed, his face smoothed out, and he stopped moving. Sacha stepped away, walked past Ethan's unused bed and into the bathroom.

He took a shower in the big, glass box next to the toilet, letting the hot water pound against his shoulders and run through his hair. He wiped away a little patch of steam from the mirror and examined the faded blue streaks in his hair.

Ethan was awake when Sacha exited the bathroom, sitting out on the balcony with a platter of food on the table beside him. Sacha dropped the towel on the floor by his bed and bent down to dig around in his duffel bag, pulling on a pair of loose shorts before he opened the door and stepped outside. Ethan looked around when Sacha strode past him to drop into the second chair on the balcony. Sacha frowned and pushed a few of the pillows onto the ground before settling back, catching Ethan's eye.

"Are you hungry?" Ethan asked, gesturing toward the plate between them.

Sacha shrugged, picked up a piece of buttered toast and folded it, stuffing half of it in his mouth in one. Ethan gave him a look but didn't say anything, lips quirking up as he picked up a green grape and popped it into his mouth.

"Is there anything you want to do today?" Ethan said, pulling his knees up to his chest, heels resting against the edge of his seat.

Sacha shrugged again, pushed the other half-slice of bread into his mouth and waited for Ethan to suggest something. It didn't take long, Ethan licking his lips and peering out toward the ocean. "My dad is meeting a friend today," he said. "There's a nice winery in town that I think they're going to."

Sacha waited for him to continue, chewing the bread slowly and looking at Ethan's profile. Eventually, Ethan looked at him, breeze catching the ends of his hair and lifting them for a moment. "He said you could go with them," he added. "I think he wants to get to know you."

Sacha swallowed painfully past his mouthful of food. "When did he say that?"

"Yesterday night. After you'd gone back to the room."

Sacha hesitated, bought himself some time by picking at the flakey skin of some pastry and eating it slowly, weighing his options. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

Ethan shrugged, kept his gaze away from Sacha, looking at his bent knees instead. "Go to the beach, I guess."

"You don't want to go with your dad?" Sacha asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Ethan gave another little shrug, rubbing at a spot on his leg. "No. You should, though—I mean, if you want."

Sacha almost laughed, wondered who in their right mind would  _want_  to spend a day in the close company of Ethan's father and one of his associates. The only plus side Sacha could see was that he could at least get drunk while he did it. He knew he should do it—the whole point of the trip was to get on the Dean's good side, after all. Then Sacha looked at Ethan, pictured him spending the day alone on the beach, probably burning up with all that fair skin.

"Nah," he said. He'd have other opportunities to schmooze, and he figured that getting drunk with Ethan's dad could either go well or horribly wrong, and he wasn't willing to take that chance.

Ethan looked up, obviously hopeful. "No? You don't want to go with them?"

"Nah," Sacha said again, picking up a sliced strawberry and eating it quick, turning away from Ethan's wide eyes.

"OK," Ethan said brightly. "Um, we should probably get going, then. We'll want to get down there early."

Sacha stood up, turned away from the view and toward the door only to find his way barred, Ethan right there in front of him. He put both hands on either side of Sacha's face and brought him down, kissing him soft and quick while Sacha just stood there. Then he was pulling back, biting his lip as though that would hide his smile.

Sacha cleared his throat. "Shouldn't we—"

"Yeah!" Ethan said, stepping back. "Um, yes. Let's go."

When they got to the beach, it was clear Ethan had nothing to worry about. It was nearly deserted; all white sand and crystal water to themselves except for a few early-morning idlers. They took shelter under a wide, swaying palm tree, Ethan laying out the bright beach towels he'd brought down with them and then settling in. Sacha sat down next to him, watching Ethan pull a book out of the bag he'd brought and realizing belatedly that he should have brought some work—something—to do, too.

Ethan seemed to realize that at the same time that Sacha did. He lowered his book and said, "You didn't bring anything?"

"It's fine," Sacha muttered, thinking about the next few boring hours, wondering if he'd be able to fall back asleep.

"Well…" Ethan sat up, put the book down and started to pull his t-shirt over his head, stuffing it in the bag. He looked at Sacha and raised his eyebrows. Sacha frowned, took his own shirt off as well and looked at Ethan again, who was just watching him.

Sacha frowned, started to reach toward Ethan, put a hand on his stomach. "Do you—"

"No!" Ethan said, pushing his hand away and smiling a little. "I—it's just warm. We can talk, though."

Sacha gritted his teeth and glanced away, wondered how there could be anything Ethan didn't know about him after all their interviews together. Sacha didn't give him a chance to ask anything else, said, "How do you like your classes?" before Ethan could open his mouth.

Ethan's eyebrows shot up. "Oh! They're fine," he said. "They take up a lot of time, but they're all right. I like them." He hesitated, hunched down over his bent legs and looked out toward the water. "I just wish…" He laughed a little, uncomfortable. "Never mind."

"What?" Sacha asked, watching two girls in small bikinis struggle down the beach in their flip-flops.

"Um," Ethan said, and Sacha looked at him again. "I just wish my dad could see that I like them—my classes." When Sacha didn't immediately say anything, Ethan chuckled again, cheeks darkening. "It's nothing. It's stupid."

"He doesn't like journalism?" Sacha asked.

Ethan shrugged. "He doesn't think it's important. And I guess I could see…I can understand."

Sacha frowned, scooped up a fistful of sand and watched it fall through his fingers. "What's he want you to do?"

"Business," Ethan said, distaste evident in his tone.

"And you're not interested."

Ethan paused, then said, "No."

"Then tell him to fuck off."

Ethan laughed, loud and sharp, blushing when he shot Sacha a smile. "Maybe."

"You should," Sacha said. "It's your life—do whatever the fuck you want with it."

The smile slid a bit off Ethan's face, his gaze turning contemplative, eyebrows pushing down. "Look out for myself, you mean?"

Sacha shrugged. "I guess." When Ethan just kept looking at him, he frowned. "Why?"

"Like you look out for yourself?"

The second handful of sand that Sacha had scooped up suddenly fell back through his open fingers all at once. He looked at Ethan, mouth suddenly dry. "What? What do you mean?"

Ethan shrugged, pursed his lips and glanced away for a brief moment. "Just something Aleks said. He said that you always look out for yourself."

"Yeah, well fuck Aleks, too," Sacha muttered, taking a breath and trying to slow the fat beating of his heart, so close to thinking that Ethan knew more than he was letting on, that he'd found Sacha out. But it was just Aleks trying to fuck with him again, fuck with him when he wasn't even anywhere near him.

Ethan started to open his mouth again, but Sacha sat up a little straighter and spoke first. "I'm gonna go for a walk."

"Oh," Ethan said, starting to get up. "Do you want—"

"No, you read," Sacha said, getting to his feet, already starting to walk away. "I'll be back."

Ethan's faint "OK," followed him as Sacha started to walk away, sun beating down on his shoulders and the back of his head as he broke free of the shade of the tree. He didn't walk down by the water; kept up on the shore burning his feet. By the time he made a few full circuits of the beach and returned to Ethan, he'd stopped reading, had laid back against the towel and was asleep.

Sacha didn't disturb him, picked up Ethan's book—some historical fiction novel—and then set it down again without interest. He contented himself instead with watching the beach slowly fill up and listening to Ethan sigh in his sleep.

Sacha woke Ethan up around lunchtime, when they put their shirts back on and headed to a nearby resort to have lunch with his mom. Sacha was surprised at how relaxed it was, at how easy she was to talk to when they were sitting casually in a small table outside, overlooking the ocean. She asked him more about his major and what he liked—asked him the most interesting thing he knew about the brain and didn't so much as blink when Ethan laughed at something Sacha said and put a lingering hand on his arm.

The three of them went down to the shops later, Anna trying to convince Sacha to let her buy him things, Ethan blushing and telling her to leave him alone. Sacha didn't mind, though, too long since he'd had someone like Anna in his life—someone who wanted to treat him like a son, someone who wanted to take care of him.

They went back to the house for dinner, but Sacha bowed out saying he needed to get work done, didn't want to endure another awkward dinner with Dick, anyway. Ethan brought him up some leftovers, afterward, setting the plate down on the desk next to Sacha's computer, stepping away to sit out on the deck right after, leaving Sacha to work in peace.

He joined Ethan outside once he'd eaten the cold remains of chicken and side salad, stepping out into a night that was still warm and balmy. It was different from anywhere else Sacha had ever stayed; dark but still humid, warm enough that he could sit outside on the deck and listen to the waves wash in and out. Ethan was there in the chair next to him, knees pulled up to his chest and looking pensively toward the horizon, the lights of the hotels around them illuminating the edge of the water and casting shadows of the few people still walking along the beach

Sacha glanced at Ethan, felt the need to break the silence but didn't know what to say. He closed his mouth and turned forward again, chewing the inside of his cheek. Before he got a chance to say anything, though, Ethan spoke.

"Thank you."

Sacha glanced toward him, managed to meet his gaze for a moment before Ethan glanced away.

"For coming with me," he said then. "It—you didn't have to."

Sacha snorted, said, "I wanted to," before he'd thought about it, knew it was the truth but didn't know what to do with the look that Ethan pinned on him after he'd said it; something fast and hopeful before he turned his face back toward the ocean. "So," Sacha muttered, trying to smooth away his discomfort. "It was nothing."

Ethan nodded, and they both fell silent again. Sacha's eyes tracked two people walking slowly across the beach, waves lapping at their feet as a cool breeze kicked up, blowing across the balcony and ruffling Sacha's hair. He got to his feet, wanting to go inside before the weather got any cooler; suddenly remembering the colonies and cold nights and freezing his ass off.

He didn't notice Ethan standing up too until they were facing each other, about to turn toward the door. Ethan blinked, then smiled. Sacha stepped back as Ethan stepped forward, about to let him pass, but Ethan just gripped Sacha's waist, leaned up and kissed him, so simple, no hesitation, as though he thought Sacha had just been waiting for him to do it.

Maybe Sacha had been waiting, or had at least been expecting it because he didn't think before pulling Ethan closer, before sliding both palms under his shirt and across the smooth skin of his back. Ethan sighed and pressed closer, arms wrapped over Sacha's shoulder and kissing him sweet and soft, nothing between them but the cooling night and Ethan's overheated skin from getting too much sun.

Then Ethan pulled back, chin resting against Sacha's shoulder and swaying against his front, and they'd suddenly gone from kissing to hugging and Sacha almost pulled away, not nearly as comfortable with this change, but Ethan had him held tight, and his back was warm and smooth against Sacha's hands. Then Ethan pulled away, dropped back to his feet, his hands sliding down Sacha's arms. He bit his lip and then glanced up to catch Sacha's eye, and Sacha understood.

He knew that look; hadn't seen it quite so blatantly on Ethan before; that mix of determination and fear and something deeper, but it was that third thing that Sacha knew about, had seen so often when he lived in the colonies, doing anything and everything to make some fast cash. He gritted his teeth when Ethan gripped his hand, tried to push the other thoughts aside because he wasn't stupid, knew Ethan was different, that this wasn't the same thing at all.

The room was mostly dark when they entered, no light except for the small lamp on the bedside table, and Ethan kept it that way as he led Sacha forward by the hand, paused at the edge of Sacha's bed and glanced at him, dropping Sacha's hand and then rubbing his palms against the thin fabric of his pants.

"Nervous?" Sacha asked, even when it was obvious, worth it for the blush that spread across Ethan's cheeks, as though he thought he'd been subtle about anything.

"I," he only got that far before he had to clear his throat. "I—just, I've never done this before."

Sacha snorted, didn't say  _I know_  even if he'd been thinking it. He didn't get a chance to say anything, however, because Ethan had suddenly given him a quick, anxious look.

"Um, have you?" He took a quick breath then added, "Done this? With—with a guy?"

Sacha wasn't sure why he hadn't been expecting the question, opened his mouth and realized he was at a loss how to answer. Ethan was just staring at him, eyes dark and wide, hair falling against his forehead and sides of his face, sticking up a little in the back, and he was so sweet, so warmwhen Sacha cupped a hand around the side of his face and Ethan blushed deeper and tilted his head into the touch.

Sacha swallowed, said, "Sure, sweetheart," and let Ethan think whatever he wanted about it before leaning down to kiss him.

For a moment, he thought that maybe he hadn't done such a good job convincing Ethan, considering how stiff Ethan was when Sacha wrapped an arm around his waist, how hesitantly he kissed Sacha back. Then Sacha felt the tremor that slid up Ethan's spine, took a moment to really  _feel_  Ethan against him and realized he was shaking. He pulled back, tightened his grip on Ethan's hair to keep his face tilted up, keep their gazes locked.

"What?" Ethan asked, eyes dropping to Sacha's lips for a long moment before sliding back up. "What?"

Sacha squinted, tilted his head to one side and examined Ethan's face. "You all right?"

Ethan's expression hardened a little, not offended but determined. He pushed Sacha's hand away from his head and then shifted his grip to grab Sacha by the front of his shirt. He was stronger than he looked, stronger than Sacha expected; had no room to fight when Ethan leaned his weight against Sacha and pushed him around, made him step sidewise and fall back against the bed, blinking up at Ethan's wide, dark eyes.

That was it, though; Ethan seemed to lose his nerve afterward, suddenly shy again, looking down at Sacha, leaned back on his elbows on the bed, as though he had no idea what to do with him now. Sacha helped him out, smirking with Ethan standing in front of him and blushing furiously, shy and bold at the same time; could only go so far trying to get what he wanted without having to stop and let someone else take the reins.

He sat up, gripped Ethan by the hips and pulled him forward, let Ethan stumble, catch himself with a knee on the bed beside Sacha's thigh, kept moving forward until he was kneeling over Sacha's lap, hands on his shoulders.

"What, you're scared now?" Sacha asked, laughed and pulled on Ethan's hips, brought his ass down to Sacha's lap.

Ethan just made a disgruntled noise, wiggled his ass against Sacha's crotch—unintentionally or not, Sacha didn't know or care because then they were kissing again, Sacha flexing his fingers against Ethan's hips to get a better grip and keep the rhythm going.

Sacha didn't remember getting Ethan out of his clothes, knew he must have done it because a while later when he was spread back on the bed, Ethan's hands working at his pants, he still had Ethan's t-shirt clutched in one hand. He realized in time to toss it away somewhere over the side of the bed, to put both hands on Ethan's face and bring him up to kiss, shifting his hips at the same time to shimmy his pants off onto the floor and out of his interest entirely.

Ethan whimpered when Sacha pulled him down even more, when the full length of his body covered Sacha's and they slid together. Sacha ran a hand through Ethan's hair, broke the kiss and just watched the blush spread farther down Ethan's chest, sucked at the jut of his collarbone, then pulled back to watch that fair skin bruise. Ethan let him do it, breathing fast and rocking his hips slow against Sacha's, occasional little gasp and moan when their cocks slid together just right.

Then he was pulling back, sitting up, getting off the bed, and Sacha leaned up so fast his head spun, grabbing at Ethan's wrist. "Where—"

Ethan glanced over his shoulder and smiled. His cock bobbed in the warm air as he gently pulled free of Sacha's grasp and walked toward the other end of the room. Sacha just watched; watched his back flex; the faint outlines of his ribs and the clear notches of his spine in the warm lamp glow as he bent down, unzipping his suitcase and then coming back to Sacha's side.

He sat down on the bed beside him, shy again and said, "Um, here," as he pushed something into Sacha's hands.

Sacha glanced down at the bottle of lube and the generic condom in his hand for a brief moment, didn't know why  _he_  was blushing as if he'd never done this before; blamed Ethan for being so nervous that it was rubbing off on him, too.

He snapped out of it fast, though, just in the time it took for Ethan to suddenly say, "I have more," and Sacha laughed, couldn't help it. He looked up at Ethan in time to watch his eyes get impossibly larger as he bit his lip, looking humiliated.

"How many do you think we'll need, baby?" he asked, just to say it, to watch Ethan's cheeks flame, looking guilty and embarrassed and turned on, as if he was expecting Sacha to fuck him senseless until they both passed out. Sacha got a little harder thinking about the possibility. Ethan's eyes met his.

They were grabbing at each other in the next moment, Sacha getting handfuls of Ethan's arm and his ass, rolling on top of him, gratified when Ethan didn't do anything but stretch up toward him, trying to kiss again, pinned between Sacha and the over-fluffed pillows. Sacha let it happen, let Ethan kiss him for a brief moment before he pulled back, found the small bottle with his hand and spilled the slick liquid over his fingers.

"So how do you want it?" he asked as he dipped his hand between Ethan's legs to rub into him slowly with one finger.

Ethan swallowed, shuddered, and Sacha could feel the motion in Ethan's muscles squeezing down on his finger, drawing him in deeper. "Uh," Ethan gasped. "I don't—this is good, just— _ah_!"

His thighs were twitching, knees pressed together but hips tilted up because he was shy and needy at the same time, and it drove Sacha a little crazy to remember that, to sink a second finger into Ethan's warm body and watch him twist and want it. Sacha leaned over and kissed him because he needed it too bad, needed to feel Ethan struggle to keep himself together while Sacha worked him open slow. He twisted his fingers and pushed them apart until Ethan wasn't kissing him anymore; just lying there panting against Sacha's mouth, occasionally trying to kiss back and then getting distracted again.

Sacha felt too caught up; pulled his fingers out fast to grab the condom, only to have it slide through his fingers and fall onto the bed.

"Here," Ethan said, reaching for the foil package at the same moment Sacha did. "Um, I can…" He trailed off, opening it with shaky fingers and then reaching forward, as if he were going to hand Sacha the little circle, then paused.

He sat up instead, and Sacha had to make a conscious effort not to rub his cock up into Ethan's hand when Ethan gripped him and began to roll the condom on. Ethan kept his eyes downcast, face and chest red, and it wasn't until the condom was on and Ethan dragged his hand up the length of Sacha's cock—testing it—that he glanced up.

"Is that—" Ethan started to ask, voice so faint that it was barely more than a hush in the dim room; practically indistinguishable from the whisper of curtains blowing in the faint breeze coming through the screen door.

Sacha kissed him before he could finish, wrapped both hands around Ethan's face and dragged him closer. Ethan just shuddered and moaned, tilted his face back and wrapped his arms around Sacha's waist, trailing the blunt edges of his nails down Sacha's back and then grabbing his ass, making Sacha startle. He pulled back, gasping, but got too caught up in Ethan moving to suck at his neck, in rotating his hips to rub the head of his cock against Sacha's hipbone to remember what had annoyed him.

He pushed Ethan back onto the bed, watched him splay there with his legs spread for a moment before he pushed them together again, biting his lip and closing his eyes. Sacha barely noticed, only spared Ethan a quick glance before finding the little bottle and slicking his cock in quick, short pulls. He could only manage for a moment before he had to stop, cock already so fucking hard and heavy.

He already knew how he wanted to do this; how he wanted to fuck Ethan his first time, knew Ethan wouldn't put up a fight as long as the end result was the same. So Sacha lay down on the bed beside Ethan, pushed at his side until he started to roll over. Sacha caught his shoulder halfway and brought him to a stop, pushing up against his back and wrapping an arm around his narrow chest. Ethan let out a shaky little breath, started to part his legs, lift one up off the mattress before he paused.

"H—how—"

"Like this." Sacha gripped Ethan's upraised leg and bent it at the knee, guiding it up to press against Ethan's chest, the length of his other long, pale leg still resting against the sheets.

Sacha lowered his arm from around Ethan's front to reach between them, to find Ethan's hole with the head of his cock and just hold it there. Sacha glanced up, leaned forward over Ethan's shoulder to watch him bite his lip, eyes wide when he glanced back to look at Sacha. They could kiss like this, easily, with Sacha able to push Ethan's head into the pillows, distract him until he started to push in. Then Ethan broke away, turned his face away to cringe into the pillows.

Sacha didn't stop, kept it slow as he eased in, the fluttering of Ethan's muscles around his cock driving him insane with the need to push faster, to be as deep as possible. Then his hips met Ethan's ass and he stopped, grabbed Ethan's upraised knee and pinned it to Ethan's chest again, held it there while he leaned up on his other elbow and fingered the ends of the hairs on the back of Ethan's neck. It took a moment for Sacha to realize that his hands were shaking, that his grip on Ethan's trembled.

"You all right, baby?" he asked, couldn't help but give his hips an experimental little shift, had to bite back a groan at the way Ethan squeezed his eyes shut and jerked back against him.

Ethan nodded, blond hair folding against the pillow as he turned his face into the cream-colored pillowcase and mumbled something.

"What?"

Ethan lifted his face, glanced back and met Sacha's gaze, his lips a pale pink in the soft light, and everything pleasantly warm and relaxing around them. "I'm OK," Ethan said, gaze dropping down to Sacha's mouth for a fraction before flicking up again. "I'm good. I want—I want you to."

He didn't specify, but he didn't need to, and Sacha was too hard and delirious feeling every slight motion of Ethan's body around his cock to make him beg for it. He pulled out slow, not very far; couldn't do much else with the position they were in, but it was still good—better than good, both of them groaning when Sacha sank back in deep. Ethan's body had barely settled back against the sheets when Sacha was pulling out, then pushing in again, so fucking good that he could hardly wait to feel it again, gripped Ethan's knee tighter and sank into him once more.

Ethan was already leaking onto the mattress, cock dripping and red at the tip, and Sacha was amused and more than a little turned on by how close to coming Ethan was already. He took him in hand and spread the wetness around the head with his thumb, only made Ethan squirm down onto Sacha's cock for more, more pre-come to bead at the tip of his cock. Then Sacha wrapped a hand tight around Ethan and brought it up at the same moment he fucked into him deep. That had Ethan moaning more, high-pitched and obvious and  _loud_ , just kept going when Sacha twisted his wrist and started to jerk him off in earnest, kept up the steady slow, deep thrusts.

It took Sacha by surprise when Ethan came, even having seen it happen more than once over the past week. It was different with Ethan suddenly falling apart in front of him and around his cock, whole body shuddering and twisting and  _keening_ , come all over Sacha's hand and the mattress when he was finally done, still shivery and hot and tight around Sacha's cock. Sacha didn't realize how close he was himself until suddenly Ethan turned his head, flushed and glowing and tousle-haired, tilting his chin up to make it easier for Sacha to kiss him. It wasn't until Ethan reached a hand up and dragged Sacha closer by the back of his neck, until Ethan moaned and slid his tongue against Sacha's, until he pressed his hips back and tightened around Sacha's cock, that he finished. He came in sharp bursts, had to grip Ethan's hip to keep him in place while Sacha fucked him fast and shallow for a few moments, broke their kiss to sink his teeth into the skin at Ethan's shoulder until Ethan was groaning again.

Ethan unfolded his leg and dropped it back to the mattress once Sacha had stopped moving. Sacha watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, breathing slowing down until Sacha put a hand between them and pulled out. Ethan's breath hitched, muscles tightening around Sacha's cock as if Ethan were trying to keep it inside him. Then he relaxed, and Sacha was out, stripping the condom off and stuffing it back into the wrapper, dropping it onto the floor.

Sacha rolled back onto the bed, casting a quick glance toward the pale curve of Ethan's spine before he settled against the mattress, keeping to himself. He figured that would be it, maybe things would be awkward between them now, but then Ethan rolled onto his back, too, just beside Sacha with their shoulders and thighs touching.

Maybe it wasn't so awkward anyway, with Ethan warm and soft beside him, with the distant sound of waves and the room a comfortable temperature for both of them to sprawl out naked without being cold. Sacha could feel himself drifting; everything quiet and comfortable. Then there was Ethan's soft hair against his skin; Ethan turning his face to rest his cheek against Sacha's shoulder. Sacha wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him closer, Ethan leaning into him at once, sighing across Sacha's chest. He thought that maybe he should say something, but then Ethan glanced up and smiled, cheeks still sweetly pink, and Sacha decided he didn't need to.

#

He only realized he'd fallen asleep when suddenly he was waking up again, the room still warm, his arm curled loosely around Ethan's torso. Ethan was right up against Sacha's side, his lips brushing lazily over Sacha's chest. Sacha blinked and peered downward, only noticed when Ethan shifted against him that were was something hot and hard between them, up against Sacha's thigh.

He snorted, asked "Yeah?" and dragged a hand slowly up Ethan's back.

Ethan blushed, dipped his face down to press his nose against Sacha's neck, staying wedged up against his side, suddenly pushing another condom into Sacha's hand. Sacha laughed, sat up and pushed Ethan onto his stomach, laughed again when Ethan just dragged one of the pillows closer to hug against his chest as he spread his legs.

Sacha fucked him slow and lazy; draped over Ethan's back and breathing in the sweet scent of his hair. Ethan groaned sleepily when he came, rubbing against the sheets, groaned again when it was over and Sacha was pulling out.

He brought a hand down hard against Ethan's ass when he rolled over, reveled in the way Ethan jerked and made an indignant noise, in the red mark his hand left behind. Ethan might have said something in the darkness, voice soft and low, but Sacha was already drifting off again too far gone to listen.

They woke late the next morning, Ethan forgetting to set the alarm, but he still managed to find the time to drag Sacha into the shower for a quick fuck against the wall. They were still late to breakfast with his parents, but Ethan didn't seem to care so Sacha tried not to either, found it difficult when Dick's eyes slid right past Ethan to land on Sacha when they entered the dining room, as if it were Sacha's fault they were late and not his son's for loving cock so much.

Sacha learned to expect it. Over the next few days, being late to meals or outings became something of a pattern, Ethan constantly carrying around condoms and lube and dragging Sacha away at any given moment to use them. Not that Sacha was complaining, could only laugh at the end of the day when Ethan sank down on his cock with a sigh as if he couldn't get enough of it; had been missing it for the whole three hours since Sacha had fucked him up against the wall in the bathroom of a nearby restaurant.

They were only five minutes late to dinner on Sunday night, Ethan stumbling in first with hair disheveled and tie crooked, wet spot on the bottom of his dress shirt that he tucked hastily out of sight down the front of his pants. Sacha was so busy being amused and lazily sated that he didn't immediately realize there were three people sitting at the table when they arrived instead of the usual two.

The third, unknown member of the party was another blond, serious-looking with his wire-rimmed glasses and a blank expression. He and Dick both stood up when Sacha and Ethan entered. Dick said, "Ethan, you remember Professor Cook. He's been in town visiting a friend."

"Hi again," Ethan said, extending his hand. Sacha watched as Cook took it, giving him a slight smile, looking only a fraction less grim.

"And this is Ethan's friend Sacha," Dick said, and it was Sacha's turn to shake hands with the Professor, already feeling uncomfortable and praising himself on deciding not to spend time with them when the opportunity had arisen.

"Professor Cook heads the business school," Ethan said quietly to Sacha as they sat down.

Sacha looked up, tried to catch Ethan's eye but couldn't since he was suddenly fascinated with his empty plate. He glanced at Dick instead, wondered how much of this dinner was just friends getting together and how much had to do with Ethan. It didn't take long for him to find out. Once Ethan was there, Dick seemed unable to stop himself from asking Cook about his school and the courses, humming in agreement and occasionally asking Ethan if he was listening.

"It's an excellent program," Dick said.

Cook nodded in the affirmative, leaning back as a waiter cleared away his appetizer plate. "One of the best in the country," he said.

"And the students?" Dick asked then, shooting a quick look at Ethan. "They're happy?"

Cook adjusted his glasses, smoothed a hand over the tablecloth. "Oh, yes. They're all very well-off. Most of them—"

"That's not what he asked," Sacha said, didn't know what made him say it, but too late to take it back with everyone suddenly looking at him, with Ethan's hand suddenly on his knee and squeezing a warning.

"I beg your pardon?" Professor Cook asked.

Sacha cleared his throat, ignored Ethan's little plea of, "Leave it, please," that was so quiet he could pretend to not hear it. "He asked if they're happy, not how well-off they are."

Dick cut in before Cook could say anything, looking torn between amusement and annoyance. "Well," he said, "one's position—"

"Doesn't determine how fucking happy you are."

Ethan made a little noise, gripped Sacha's knee tighter. The two other men were just looking at him, not angry; just looking, as though Sacha were some vaguely interesting spectacle in a zoo. He gritted his teeth, resigned himself to being silent the rest of the dinner even if he knew it wouldn't happen.

"Ethan," Dick said then, "maybe it's time—"

"Waiter!"

Dick broke off at the sound of Anna's bright voice, loud enough that they all turned to watch as she ushered a nearby waiter to their table.

"How about we try the house cabernet?" she asked, giving the waiter a little smile as he bowed his head.

"A glass?" He asked.

"Oh," she said, lifting a hand and waving it airily, "the bottle."

He left, and Sacha wanted to laugh, but managed to hold it together. Whatever Dick had been about to say left with the waiter's departure, and Sacha spent the rest of the meal drinking wine and trying to bite his damn tongue.

At one point he had to step away, went to the bathroom so he wouldn't have to sit there and listen to Cook and Dick talk about that fucking business school again. He was just washing his hands when the door to the restroom opened again.

He didn't glance up until an image flickered in the mirror over his head. Professor Cook was there, head turning away from Sacha and toward the rolled hand towels between the sinks. He ran one under the tap and began dabbing at his shirt near the collar.

"This had better not stain," he said, and Sacha glanced at him, debating whether he should linger or leave; unsure whether there was any point trying to get in good with this guy or figure out what his game was concerning Ethan.

"I don't see anything," Sacha said. He added, "sir," when the sentence hung uncomfortably in the air between them; too informal and awkward, even when Sacha had sworn at him earlier in the night.

Cook turned to look at him, glasses catching the light that bounced off the mirrors from the fixtures overhead and gleaming for a brief moment. He stepped forward before Sacha could do anything, close enough that Sacha was suddenly at eye-level with Cook's throat, and the small red stain on his shirt. Close enough to make Sacha feel vaguely uncomfortable, for the familiar feeling of guilt to settle in his stomach—guilt like he hadn't felt since he'd been back on Mars.

"I've heard a bit about you," Cook said.

Sacha looked up fast, clenched his jaw and then relaxed again, said, "Yeah? Sir?"

"Richard said Ethan was being a friend with him—a colony friend."

He still stood too close, but Sacha didn't know what to do about it, wasn't convinced this was what he thought it might have been. Then Cook stepped closer.

Sacha breathed in sharply, didn't move when suddenly there was Cook's hand by his face, coming to rest against the wall behind Sacha's back.

Cook leaned a little closer, threatening but still reserved, only one hand pressed against the wall so that the other side of his body was relaxed, not caging Sacha in, and it would have been almost like a lifeline if Sacha hadn't still been blocked in by the sinks on his other side. "Richard said you're on scholarship."

Sacha hesitated, then nodded, met Cook's cold gray eyes but kept his mouth shut, didn't know what might come out if he started talking.

"You know," Cook began, and he straightened a little, tilted his hips in so he actually moved closer rather than farther away. "I have friends on the board," he said. "Including Richard…I could always put in a good word."

Sacha felt a jagged laugh build in his throat, thinking of Ethan's father and what a terrible impression he'd made on him at this point. He doubted whether anyone's good word could change his mind. Then Cook's hand was on his shoulder and Sacha suddenly didn't feel like laughing anymore, definitely not when Cook said. "I would only ask for a little in return."

Sacha's eyes caught on the small stain on Cook's shirt, skimmed up the smooth neck and met his steady gaze again. He wasn't repulsive, wasn't even ugly, and Sacha  _knew_  even without knowing what exactly Cook would ask of him, that Sacha had done a lot more for a lot less. He considered the offer because it wouldn't be the first time, and maybe some part of him always figured that his last time wouldn't really be his last, anyway.

Then the bathroom door opened again. Cook pulled back at the same moment that Ethan entered, gait slowing and dark eyes flicking between the two of them.

"Well," Cook said, and he looked so unruffled that Sacha suddenly felt more uneasy than he had before, wondering how often Cook did this that not even being caught propositioning a student could faze him. "Think about it," he said, giving Sacha a long look.

Then he turned, passing by Ethan, and Sacha had it in himself to feel surprised at Ethan's cold look when he turned to Cook; eyebrows drawn in and lips thin. He turned his head to watch Cook walk out, following him with his gaze the whole time, waiting until the heavy, wooden door had closed behind him before his eyes found Sacha's.

Sacha knew Ethan wasn't nearly as naïve as he looked with his wide eyes and easy blush, knew it, but never really realized until Ethan just looked at him, and he was no idiot, and he knew that something was wrong—that he'd walked in on something shady. The look on his face made it clear that he wasn't going to let it go in a hurry, either.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Sacha was so ready to hear something else from his lips—an accusation or condemnation—that he didn't know what to say. Finally, he settled on, "Yeah," even when Ethan's eyebrows drew in, eyes narrowing, and it was clear that he didn't believe him.

"What was that?" Ethan asked.

Sacha pushed away from the wall and walked toward the sink, washing his hands again. "What was what? Can't you recognize a conversation when you see one?"

"I can," Ethan said, and when Sacha glanced up Ethan was right at his shoulder, examining his reflection in the mirror. He opened his mouth so say something else but Sacha beat him to it.

"If you want to get fucked again, you're going to have to wait—we don't have time."

Sacha glanced over his shoulder in time to watch Ethan blush and frown. "I'm not—that isn't—"

"Forget it." He made to brush past Ethan and out the door, but Ethan caught his arm. Sacha looked down at the pale skin and long fingers, thought about shaking him off, but then Ethan spoke, and Sacha's attention was diverted.

"I'm—you know you can talk to me…right?" He blinked quickly, his fingers squeezing Sacha's arm. "I…I kind of thought—I mean this whole trip—"

 _"Ethan,"_  Sacha said, and then he was jerking free, could do it easily with Ethan's hand just falling back to his side again, his eyes wide. "There's nothing to talk about."

He left for real then, Ethan not saying or doing anything to stop him as the door closed. Sacha rejoined the table where Cook and the Dean and Anna were laughing together—probably about a joke Sacha wouldn't have understood even if he'd heard it. Only Anna looked up when Sacha sat down, and when Ethan returned a few minutes later, he kept his eyes averted, too.

They packed up their things in silence after dinner, Sacha and Ethan both on either side of the room. It didn't take Sacha long; hadn't moved anything out of his bag except for the few scattered shirts on the ground and armchair in the corner. Ethan was carefully removing all of his clothes from the chest of drawers beneath the television and repacking them into his suitcase, walking to the closet and pulling down his dress shirts from the wooden hangers there. Sacha just watched him once his bag was zipped and sitting at the foot of his bed, didn't miss the way Ethan was obviously not looking in his direction.

He disappeared into the bathroom to get his things and Sacha stood up, caught him when he returned and tried to kiss and make up, but Ethan wasn't having it, didn't say anything as he slipped easily out of Sacha's hold and turned back to his bag, his shoulders tense. Sacha didn't try again, pissed at himself and at Ethan, and that night when Ethan climbed into his own bed and pulled the covers up over his shoulders, Sacha didn't try to join him. He got under the covers and listened to the sound of the ocean and a very distant laugh from on the beach, felt the warm breeze and tried not to focus on how cold his bed felt despite it.

Ethan was quiet the next morning; not exactly giving Sacha the cold shoulder with the way he still looked at Sacha and didn't frown, the way he let their shoulders bump together on the car ride to the airport. When they boarded the plane and took their seats, Sacha was already dreading it, hard knot in the pit of his stomach from everything that had happened over the past few days. He suddenly wished that he'd never gone on vacation with Ethan—sure now that nothing good had come of it—that he might actually have succeeded in doing the opposite of his goal and lost his scholarship for good.

He glanced around when Ethan moved, but Ethan was looking out the window, not paying attention to Sacha at all. Except that he'd occupied the armrest between them, the lightly tanned skin on the inside of this wrist showing when he'd turned his arm to set it palm up and fingers straightened. Sacha swallowed, took the comfort for what it was and didn't think about it, lacing their fingers and gripping tight, didn't let go even once they'd taken off and the plane was steady, flying them easily back home.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOFFFF it's been a while, SORRY FOR THE SHORTNESS OF THIS CHAPTER! D:

**Ethan**

Ethan kept his silence on the way back to the apartment. He let Sacha toss his bag down by the door and flop onto the bed while Ethan put all his things back in the dresser, feeling Sacha's eyes on him the whole time. He didn't turn around until all his things were back in their place, his suitcase stowed away in the closet, and there was nothing else for him to do.

Sacha sat up when Ethan turned around; dropped his legs over the side of the bed and put his hands on his knees. He was blank-faced when he met Ethan's gaze, obviously waiting for Ethan to make the first move, still tight-lipped and unwilling to tell Ethan what he wanted to know.

So Ethan moved closer; sat down on the edge of the bed beside Sacha and looked at him. He was staring at the floor, jaw clenched, and Ethan still couldn't decide if Sacha was actually hiding something from him or if he was just naturally evasive and closed off. He put a hand on Sacha's knee and watched him blink and look down at it, expression still unreadable.

Then, after a moment: "It was nothing."

Ethan didn't respond, but didn't move his hand away with Sacha still looking at it. He knew what he saw, knew that at the time it might have been nothing, but still wasn't sure what would have happened if he hadn't walked into the restroom at that moment.

"Is that…" Ethan started, then hesitated, tried to keep his voice even. "Have you…done that before?"

Sacha looked up at that, and despite the quick set of his scowl, he wasn't quite fast enough to cover up the widened eyes and raised eyebrows that spoke strongly of fear. He didn't say anything, jaw working for a brief moment as he glared, the muscle under Ethan's hand going rigid.

"I'm sorry," Ethan said, since Sacha had given himself away in that brief moment. Ethan knew the answer, and didn't need to hear anything Sacha might say about it after that. "I'm sorry."

Sacha began to open his mouth, still looking furious, but Ethan shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Sacha stood up at that, dislodging Ethan's hand to unearth his boots from a pile of discarded clothes and begin to pull them on.

"You don't have to leave," Ethan said, standing up quickly and just watching Sacha tie his shoes. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean—I shouldn't have asked."

"Not mad," Sacha mumbled, stomping his foot into his shoe and then bending over to tie it. "Told some friends I'd see them when I got back."

"Oh," Ethan said, just continuing to stand and watch Sacha get ready to leave, wishing he'd never opened his mouth; sure that Sacha was leaving because he was angry—no matter what he said to the contrary. He shifted and tried to break the silence, hoping to smooth things over. "Um, what friends?"

Sacha looked up, hesitating on his way out of the bedroom. He shrugged, turned almost as if he were going to leave, then looked back at Ethan, pinning him with an inscrutable look. "Why?"

Ethan shrugged, opened his mouth and realized he had nothing to say, wanted something but didn't want to ask for it.

Sacha seemed to understand anyway, watching Ethan and frowning as he said, "Do you…want to come?"

"Really?" Ethan asked because he could stop himself, straightening up a little.

Sacha flexed his jaw, shrugged, then turned to leave again. Ethan quickly put on his shoes, grabbed his keys, and met Sacha at the front door. Sacha lit a cigarette as soon as Ethan closed and locked the door behind them, puffing steadily and heading down to the street with Ethan at his side. Ethan didn't think to ask where they were going until they were about to board a bus, Sacha growling and dropping his cigarette to the pavement when the driver kept the doors closed and glared. Even when he did ask, all Sacha said was, "Apartment," as he pushed Ethan into the only available seat and gripped the handrail just above him.

Ethan nodded, looked around the crowded bus to avoid staring at Sacha's groin just in front of his face. He looked at Sacha's profile instead; watched him scowl as he looked toward the front of the bus, crowding Ethan whenever someone boarded and Sacha had to let them pass. Ethan just watched him, tried to curl into his seat whenever Sacha got too close, thinking about meeting Sacha's friends—wondering if they'd like him.

He startled suddenly when a hand touched his head, looked up at the same moment that Sacha brushed fingers through his hair and swiped a thumb across Ethan's cheek. He looked down at Ethan and smirked, and when the bus stopped a moment later, Sacha gripped Ethan's arm and pulled him up and off the bus.

The main room was empty when Sacha slid the key into the lock and fumbled open the front door. Ethan peered around as he trailed after Sacha, noting that the place looked tidier now than it had when he'd been there before. He watched Sacha toss his keys down onto the couch and walk to the kitchen, Ethan just behind him.

He startled when something cold bumped his arm; too busy peering down the hallway toward the closed doors of the bedrooms to notice Sacha waving a beer at him. Ethan took the bottle and let Sacha pop the cap with a bottle opener on the counter, following Sacha's lead and taking a hearty swig in the silence of the apartment.

"So," Ethan said, chancing a glance at Sacha. "Um, where's Aleks?"

Sacha's mouth thinned, eyes focusing down the hallway. "He's here," he said. "Come on."

Ethan followed him out of the kitchen, drinking more beer and trying to feel less nervous, wondering why he felt so out of place when he'd been here before and met at least one of Sacha's friends already. He almost expected Sacha to knock on one of the closed doors and get Aleks, but he just led Ethan to his own bedroom and flipped on the light, striding to the small desk and setting his beer down. Ethan watched, took a seat on the unmade bed and followed Sacha with his eyes as he moved around the room.

"So," Ethan said again, resting his beer bottle on his knee as Sacha riffled through stray papers on his desk.

Sacha grunted, not looking up. He picked up a hardcover textbook and set it aside, taking another swig of his beer right after.

"Are you…all right?" Ethan asked, watching Sacha closely. He could see Sacha tense, his eyes flicking up for a moment to look away from his desk and toward the wall.

He turned around, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning a hip against the desk. "Course," he said.

Ethan glanced down, picking at a loose corner of the label on his beer. "You're sure you aren't mad at me?"

He was still looking down when Sacha stepped forward, didn't realize he'd moved at all until there was a hand on his upper arm, gripping and urging Ethan to his feet. He complied, barely had a moment to get to his feet before Sacha was kissing him. Ethan pressed forward into Sacha's hands around his face, gripping the hem of Sacha's shirt and swaying against him.

It had been different between them since they'd gone away together. Ethan didn't think it was the sex—or, not  _just_  the sex—but rather a natural progression of their relationship; them getting to know each other better… _bonding_. There were still things that he thought Sacha kept from him, still things that Ethan thought he should know, but he chalked it up to Sacha being naturally secretive. Ethan liked to think that Sacha would tell him everything in time, once he was more comfortable with Ethan.

Ethan didn't notice when the door opened. It wasn't until they broke apart that he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced around, made to step back from Sacha but found that there was nowhere to go with the bed right behind him.

"Aleks," Sacha said, turning back to the desk and picking up his beer again. "You know Ethan."

Aleks met Ethan's gaze for a moment before looking back to Sacha. The deadpan expression didn't change, and Ethan thought back to the last time they'd seen each other; when Aleks had given him that cryptic warning about Sacha. Ethan still didn't know how to take that, couldn't figure out what Aleks meant.

Then Aleks said something, quick and so quiet that they were in the same room but Ethan couldn't catch it. He looked to Sacha when he responded in Russian, and realized that he wouldn't have been able to understand Aleks even if he'd heard him. Aleks turned and abruptly left the room then. Sacha hesitated for a moment longer to sip more beer before glancing at Ethan and then following after Aleks. Ethan paused for a moment, then did the same, wondering what they'd said to each other, wondering if he'd stop feeling like such an outsider the longer he stayed.

Sacha was on the couch on his second beer when Ethan entered the main room. Aleks was quickly drinking a bottle of his own, and Ethan got the distinct impression that neither were going to slow down any time soon. Ethan sat down on the couch between them in the space they had left. He tried to make himself as small as possible, trying not to touch either of them and make things more uncomfortable.

A movie was playing on the TV, something old and unfamiliar, and Ethan watched blankly as the night progressed. At one point when Sacha sat back down with his forth beer, pressing a third into Ethan's hands, he took the opportunity to sling an arm and Ethan's shoulders and bring him closer. Ethan resisted at first, feeling uncomfortable with Aleks on his other side, but Sacha kept him in place, and it wasn't long before he was nosing along Ethan's cheek, lips skimming his jaw.

"Sacha," he muttered, trying to pull away, but then there was Sacha's free hand on his cheek, fingertips stroking down, and his gaze was soft and a little amused when he met Ethan's eyes.

Ethan's eyes flicked down, settling on Sacha's mouth in time to see him smile. He dragged Ethan closer, and Ethan was certain he was about to be kissed until he realized that Sacha was pulling him closer to get to the beer in his hand and take a sip. Ethan nudged him in the side with his elbow and Sacha's smile widened around the mouth of the bottle.

Aleks chose that moment to speak up, and Ethan wouldn't have minded, would have even welcomed the conversation, if Aleks had said anything other than what he did. "Ethan and I hooked up."

Ethan's beer bottle slipped from between his fingers and he only just managed to catch it before it dropped out of his hand completely. He pulled easily out of Sacha's suddenly lax grip around him, turning to face Aleks.

"I thought—" Ethan broke off, tried again. "You said—"  _we shouldn't say anything._

Aleks' expression didn't change. He kept his cold gaze fixed on Ethan and said, "I changed my mind."

He stood up from the couch, and Ethan could only watch as he passed them, didn't get far before Sacha grabbed hold of his arm, fingers digging into skin. 'What did you say?"

"It's true," Aleks muttered, and Ethan watched a little flicker of apprehension flit across his expression when Sacha raised himself up from the couch, still holding Aleks' arm.

"Are you lying to me?" Sacha snapped.

Ethan stood up, too, couldn't let Aleks take the fall for being a liar, even if he'd presented the information at the worst possible time. "We did, Sacha. It was just once…a while ago—before… _us_."

Sacha looked around, and Ethan was surprised by the anger in his face; clenched teeth and eyes narrowed. "Is that supposed to make it better?"

"Yes," Ethan said. "It didn't have anything to do with you—or us."

"So you think it's OK to fucking lie to my face?"

Aleks frowned a bit at that, staring at the back of Sacha's head.

Ethan licked his lips. "No," he said. "No—it's—that's not OK, and I'm sorry we didn't tell you." He glanced at Aleks again, who didn't meet his gaze. "We thought…it would be better not to tell you."

Sacha just glared at him, and Ethan felt a bit foolish that he'd thought he wouldn't see that expression directed at him again—that things had changed so much since they'd been together. But Sacha was still Sacha, and Ethan had forgotten that.

Ethan didn't know where to go from there; wasn't sure how to calm Sacha down. In the end, it didn't matter. The front door opened suddenly, but Ethan was too busy watching Sacha, watching him and Aleks both turn to look at the newcomer, that he didn't immediately see who it was.

It wasn't until the person stepped forward and said, "Hey, what's going—Ethan?" that Ethan looked up.

"Ivan." Ethan could feel his cheeks flaming.

"Oh, now  _you_  know each other, too?" Sacha asked, looking between the two of them. His eyes paused for a long moment on Ethan's face. Ethan saw the hand around his beer bottle clench tighter. "You fuck him?"

Ethan blinked, met Sacha's eyes and fidgeted. "Sacha…"

"What the  _fuck_ , Ethan?" The beer bottle dropped out of Sacha's hand and hit the floor, rolling against the couch.

Ethan searched for something to say while Aleks walked to the kitchen table and took a seat, his expression still unreadable. Ivan jumped in at that moment to say, "Whoa—you're— _this_  is the guy you're—"

He didn't get farther than that when Sacha snapped, "Shut the fuck  _up_!"

For a moment, Ivan looked surprised. Then his eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. "I don't think you have any room to be upset," he said. "Not with what  _you're_ —"

Ethan didn't get to hear the rest of that sentence, since Sacha took that moment to grab his arm and start dragging him away.

Ivan shouted, "Hey!" but Sacha didn't stop until he'd opened the front door and shoved Ethan outside, following him out onto the landing and slamming the door shut behind him.

"Ow, Sacha," Ethan muttered, rubbing his arm where Sacha had grabbed him.

Sacha didn't apologize. He clenched the metal banister tight and leaned over it to peer down at the parking lot below.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Ethan said. "But I'm not sorry for anything else."

Sacha sneered and didn't look at him. The silence stretched between them for an uncomfortably long time—long enough for Ethan to wonder if he should just leave. Then Sacha took a breath. "Yeah, I get it," he said, and the look he gave Ethan then was one of the coldest Ethan had ever seen on him, his voice low and steady—clearly aiming to hurt. "You drop your pants for anybody from the colonies to piss off your daddy, right?"

Ethan slapped him before he'd even thought about it; his hand flying out before his brain had a chance to catch up. Sacha's head jerked to the side at the force, his expression crumpling into a wince, and Ethan would have apologized if he thought for a second that Sacha hadn't deserved it. As it was, he just watched Sacha gather himself, glaring and waiting for Sacha to retaliate somehow.

It wasn't in the way Ethan expected. Sacha reached into his pocket and pulled out a few dollars, grabbing Ethan's arm again and pushing the money into his palm; forceful and mean. Then he backed away, returning to his apartment. He paused just long enough to stare coldly at Ethan and say, "Get the fuck out of here." Then the door shut behind him with a bang.


End file.
